


Better Man

by QuickCharade



Series: Back To You [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Smut, Light Dom/sub, Light Smut, Supernatural (Season 12)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 47,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickCharade/pseuds/QuickCharade
Summary: The story begins after Sam and Dean return from Site 94 -- the place that officially doesn't exist, according to Arthur Ketch. At the end of season 11, when Amara tells Dean she is going to give him what he needs, she brings back the youngest Winchester sibling -- Joy.Joy died seven years ago through a deal with a Reaper known as Billie. Joy asked Billie to promise to keep her dead, as long as her brothers stayed alive no matter what the situation.So, when Joy returned by the hands of Amara, the three siblings thought it was best if Joy stayed out of the spotlight. Sam and Dean know all too well that the things and people they love are often ripped out from under them. So as far as the rest of the world is concerned -- save for Eileen, Donna, and Jody and her gang -- Joy is still dead, thrown out in The Empty.And Joy plans to keep things that way.Until she meets a certain man known as Mr. Ketch.(Inspired by the song 'Better Man' by 5SOS. It's actually really good. It's off their latest album, so go check it out.)





	1. i don't exist.

_i never change/thought i’d never change/then you come and change it all_

The amount of Lore sitting around me is absolutely ridiculous for this type of situation.

            “Are you sure this thing is a Ghoul, Dean?” My phone sits in the middle of this chaos, my brothers on speaker phone.

            “I’ve told him it’s not.” That’s Sam. I’m not sure if he’s done any research since they’ve been gone, but he and I usually agree on these types of things.

            “Whatever it is, we need to kill it.”

            I scoff. “Obviously.”

            “Okay, alright, I’m hanging up.”

            “Dean—!”

            I smirk while I listen to my brothers wrestling over the phone. The one thing they’ve had a hate-love relationship with me about has been my sass. Especially Dean.

            Cas finds it amusing, though, so that makes up for it.

            I flick a page over in the book, my eyes skimming the words while I listen to them arguing in the background. Eventually Sam has the phone in his hand, tell Dean to go drink a beer.

            Dean’s snark comes in full-force. “Oh, I’m two hours ahead of you.” But I still hear the bottle cap pop off of a new bottle.

            I focus back on the Lore in front of me, my eyes narrowing as I read about the Ghouls from this perspective. I’ve read every book in this library, but this is one I always have to return to. I can’t trust my memory as much as I’d like to.

            And, as suspected, my memory was telling me wrong.

            “Okay, Dean. I owe you a beer.”

            “What?” Sam’s question is immediate, obviously not expecting me to say this.

            “Yeah, yeah. He’s right.”

            “I’m holding you to that beer.”

            I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Just go kill it.”

            “Yes ma’am.”

            I chuckle, shaking my head. “Bye guys.”

            I hear Sam let out the same breathy chuckle, the one thing I seem to have adapted from him. “Bye sis. I’ll text you when we’re headed back.”

            I thank him, even though he knows that by now he doesn’t need to do that. But it does make me feel safer – knowing they’re coming home. Especially in light of recent events.

            Long story short, we’ve just gotten them back from Site 94. I don’t need them disappearing on Cas and me again. Those weeks that they were gone were literal hell. Not just for us, but for the rest of the country. So many cases I found but had no way to work. It’s moments like those that make me wish my knee wasn’t as fucked as it is.

            But of course, instead of thinking about that, I reach for one of the cold beers sitting next to lamp in the middle of the Lore chaos. I pop the cap off on the edge of the table, catching it before it falls to the floor – Sam’s scolding echoing in the back of my mind.

             I’m nearing the end of the second beer – which is technically my fourth for the day – when a loud knocking echoes through the bunker.

            I groan loudly. The door is upstairs. And there is no way I am moving. Whoever it is will have to wait. Or go away. Preferably the latter.

            But the persistent visitor doesn’t go away. I finish off the beer as I listen to the knocking, debating for a moment if I should get another. Or maybe some whiskey. Something to make the knocking not so damn loud.

            As if they can hear my thoughts, the knocking stops. I sigh in relief.

            But I sigh too soon. Because instead of them going away, the bunker door opens.

            Seriously? I don’t even have my gun near me.

            I lean back in my chair, craning my neck to see the intruder, thinking for a moment it could be Cas, but he’s been busy looking for Kelly Kline.

            It’s not the angel, though. It’s someone I absolutely never expected.

            Ketch. Arthur Ketch.

            I’ve met him—well, that’s a lie. Most of the people I say I’ve _met_ I mean I’ve seen pictures of them. And my brothers have talked to me about them.

            And boy, have they talked about Ketch.

            Sam was the first to talk. When they were catching me up on the happenings of the world after Amara brought me back – long story – Sam said the women who had him captive mentioned a Mr. Ketch. Toni, the blonde that had him, seemed scared of him. Not terrified, but also not eager to have him join the cause, either.

            Dean was the second to give his opinion. He said something seemed off. He doesn’t like any of the Brits, obviously, but something about Ketch felt different for him. Like a bomb waiting to go off.

            So, while I’ve never seen a picture of this man and have only heard the boys many colorful opinions on him after they’ve crossed paths, the man walking into the library is not who I expected when I imagined him.

            Maybe it’s the alcohol already in my system. Or my previous knowledge of him. Whatever it is, I don’t plan to play nice and innocent.

            I give him a tired look before returning to the book I had opened somewhere toward the end of my first beer. “You better come bearing booze or I’ll kick your ass.”

            It takes him a moment to answer. “Um, might I ask…who are you?”

            Oh, great. He’s got a stupid posh accent, too. Brilliant.

            I look up from my book tiredly, debating on if I should introduce myself or not. He has no clue who I am, which I don’t expect him to. Not most people do. Jody, Donna, and their gang know me. Eileen knows me. But other than that, I’m not a widely-known Winchester.

            Well, not anymore. Seven years ago, I was.

            Still, the alcohol makes the decision for me. “Joy,” I pause, glancing back at the book, running my finger over a piece of text absentmindedly. And when he stays quiet, I add, “Winchester.”

            The added surname still renders him speechless. I look back to him, a hint of a smile on my lips.

            “Wasn’t expecting that one, were you?”

            “I was told you died. Seven years ago.”

            “A wonderful observation,” I grin wickedly, “but I’m alive. And you never answered my question. Booze or no?”

            “Uh, booze.” He holds up a brown paper bag by the obvious neck of the bottle inside it. “Whiskey.”

            “Awesome.” I don’t need to get my gun, then. “You know, when I first heard of you I didn’t take you as the type to randomly burst into people’s houses with alcohol.”

            He sets the bottle on the end of the table, dangerously close to one of my books, but thankfully he understands my glare and moves it to the side.

            “Regardless of if you’ve heard of me, I pride myself in my manners.” He moves around the table toward my chair, holding out his hand. “Arthur Ketch. British Men of Letters.”

I stare at his hand, raising an eyebrow.

He retracts his hand, looking the most annoyed he has yet. “And if you’ve heard of me,” he pauses, letting the first half linger in the air while he removes the bag from the bottle, “why aren’t you afraid?”

            Oh, bless this man’s ego. “Please,” I scoff. “If you were going to kill me you would have already.” When he remains silent and still, I add, “Glasses are in the cabinet over there,” I nod in its general direction.

            He gets the message, thankfully, moving to grab two glasses and set them on the table across from me. I watch him as he grabs the bottle of whiskey, the book being forgotten as it proved to no longer be a distraction. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

            I narrow my eyes. I still never asked. “What are you doing here?”

            He glances up briefly from pouring whiskey, shaking his head. “I was expecting Dean to be here.”

            I snicker. “Why? You two got an affair goin’ on I don’t know about?”

            “Very funny,” he mutters, sliding one glass across the table in my direction. “I was hoping to sit for a chat. See if he had any interest in a hunt.”

            There’s a fraction of a moment where I forget that he knows nothing about me. _This_ me, at least. Because in that moment I don’t realize the way he says the last sentence. As if he’s passing the offer along.

            I shake my head, grabbing the glass. “Oh, Ketch. I don’t hunt.”

            “No?”

            I shake my head again, swirling the whiskey in the crystal glass. It even smells expensive. “No. I haven’t—” I pause to laugh, louder than I should. “—God, I haven’t hunted in years.”

            He narrows his eyes in confusion. “But you’re a Winchester.”

            I smile. “And Winchester is synonymous with Hunter now?” He looks taken back by my statement, so I wave my hand dismissively. “I used to, back before…” I wave my hand again, averting my eyes. It’s not something even intoxicated me wants to delve into.

            “Before you died,” he breathes. “Well, that is…interesting.”

            I tilt my head with a shrug. “I guess.” But then I remember I should be doing damage control. No one knows I exist – or that I’m back, at least. But now he does. A British Men of Letters.

            I’m an idiot. Intoxicated me is an idiot. Sober me is going to scream when she remembers this.

            “But,” I pause, looking him right in the eyes, which I wasn’t expecting to be as hard as it actually is, “no one else knows I came back.”

            He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

            I roll my eyes. “It is. So as far as your little cult is concerned, I don’t exist. Got it?”

            “A cult, you say?”

            “I’m serious.”

            He leans back in his chair, licking his lips. He glances down at his glass before letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes meeting mine. “I think I can keep that a secret.”

            “You won’t,” I breathe. Sober me is really going to be angry. “Whatever.”

            “Well,” he pauses to take a sip of his whiskey, “if our records say you’re dead, then, I’d say you’re dead. So as far as my _cult_ ,” he emphasizes the word, a humorous glint in his eyes, “is concerned, as you say, you don’t exist anymore.”

            It’s odd, hearing the _anymore_ tacked on at the end there. When I died, I didn’t want to exist at all. I wanted to be erased. And it’s a feeling I can feel rearing its ugly head, despite the fact that I’ve already come to terms with being alive. I’m at peace with it.

            But still, hearing that I did exist at one point, before this– It’s foreign. I don’t know that girl anymore. The Joy who existed before The Empty. I don’t think I’d want to know her. She probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me, either.

            So now here I sit, damage control apparently not needed because Ketch seems to think he can keep me a secret. But I still am not sure I can trust him entirely.

            The boys have said he’s a dick. But right now…he doesn’t appear to be one. And if I’m being honest, I’ve had a hard time thinking of any of them as assholes since they essentially saved my brothers from Site 94. Without the British Men of Letters, the boys probably would not have been found by Cas and Jody as quick as they were.

            I don’t realize it until he clears his throat. But I’ve been staring at nothing for a few moments.

            “How long?” I ask.

            He turns his head. “Pardon?”

            I move my eyes to his. “How long am I considered dead in your records? How long until something gets out—How long until you cave?”

            “Well, Miss Winchester, if there’s one thing you should know about me,” he pauses, I’m assuming for dramatic effect, but it’s more annoying than it should be, “I don’t _cave_.”

            Another roll of my eyes is my response to him. “Fine. How long until you rat me out? I mean, this is perfect leverage—”

            “I could care less about the Winchesters. Truly.”

            I narrow my eyes. “But you came here to hunt with Dean.”

            “To see if he was interested,” he corrects me. “I do not enjoy this Operation American Hunters business the Men of Letters have thrown me into. But I don’t exactly have a choice. I was coming to see if there was interest. That is all.”

            I laugh. “Well I think we’re fresh out of interest here.”

            “I don’t know,” he pauses, resting his glass on the table. “Maybe not.”

            I had been staring at the table, studying the wood grain. But his last two words immediately making my eyes snap to his.

            I raise my eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”

            “I—”

            “You are insane. _Delusional_. Are you serious right now?”

            He licks his lips again. It’s damn distracting. He needs to stop it. “Quite.” He inhales, leaning forward on his elbows. “You love to read, I’m gathering. You’re well-versed in Lore. That can be useful. You don’t have to hunt to be part of the Men of Letters—”

            “This isn’t about me being useful,” I interject. “And I didn’t let you stay so you could give me your—your sales pitch. I don’t want to join. None of us do. I don’t know why you and your cult can’t grasp that.”

            His face softens in surprise, nodding. “Alright. Forget I said anything. I apologize.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. “There’s nothing to apologize for just…stop the recruiting business. If you want any _interest_ to spark just—let it happen. Naturally. The sales pitch sucks.”

            And for the first time tonight, and ever, I hear him laugh.

            I shake my head, still not believing I am even sitting here with him. But it isn’t as bad I expected. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. Probably the alcohol.

            “Well. Good talk, but it’s past my bed time.” I down my last bit of the whiskey, leaving the glass on the table. “Thanks for the drink. You can show yourself out, I suppose.”

            “Uh, about that.”

            I raise my eyebrows. Here we go again. “Seriously?”

            “What?”

            “You come here uninvited, and you’re seriously going to ask if you can stay the night?”

            “I wasn’t—”

            “You know, I don’t care,” I wave my hand to dismiss his useless defenses. “Just pick a room. The two next to mine are Sam and Dean’s, so just, any other room. I’m going to sleep.”

            I turn the lamp off, the library going dark except for the lamp in the corner that always stays on. It illuminates his face perfectly. A little too perfectly that I have to forcibly avert my eyes.

            Yeah, it’s time for bed. Time to get away from him.

            I’m halfway to the hallway when I hear him speak up. “Goodnight Joy. Sleep well.”

            I turn my head and nod, smiling faintly. He’s doing the same, his small smile that appears to be as big as it gets. But it fits him.

            “Night,” I reply, heading to my room.

            Annoying, he is. Egotistical, that too. But some of the things Sam and Dean said, well, I don’t see much of those. As far as I can see, he’s a soldier trying to do his job.

            I can’t be mad at him for that.


	2. go to hell.

_you’re the only one/who could lock this wild heart up in chains_

I hate to say that I am shocked to wake up the next morning, completely unscathed. Something about a British Men of Letters – _the bad guys_ – sleeping in the same building as me wasn’t enough to scare intoxicated me into staying awake all night, but it’s enough for now-sober me to be confused that he didn’t try anything. At all.

The only proof I have now that last night wasn’t a total dream is the headache threatening to rip my skull in two. Obviously from the four beers and glass(es?) of whiskey Ketch and I shared while he tried and failed at giving me the signature sales pitch that Sam and Dean had already told me about – though the one they told me included more colorful language, added in mostly by Dean.

Then I remember. Sales pitch. Ketch knows I’m a Winchester.

Sometimes I forget how much of a dumbass I am when I’m drunk.

But it’s also his fault for barging in uninvited.

I groan internally. Let’s hope he was telling the whole truth last night. Last thing I need is him ratting me out because not only will I have the British Men of Letters on _my_ ass, I’ll also have to deal with the wrath of my brothers.

When Amara brought me back, Sam and Dean and I made a deal. A pact. That no matter what, I stay dead, metaphorically. We all consciously know that when I was alive before, I was the main target because of, well, simply who I am. So when Amara brought me back, we all knew what we had to do. Keep me hidden.

And it hasn’t been hard to do that. I can’t hunt, so I’m almost automatically off the radar. But I don’t think they were counting on a British guy to waltz into the bunker one night while they’re hunting, or for me to spill secrets to him, or for me to share a drink with him, or for me to let him stay the night—

I groan again, grabbing one of my spare pillows and covering my face. I sigh heavily, the cold pillowcase soothing my pounding skull. After a moment, I move to hug the pillow to my chest, my mind wandering back to him. Maybe he’ll keep a secret. Maybe he won’t.

There isn’t much I can do about it at this point.

I fumble around on my nightstand for my phone, squinting at the brightness in the dark of my room when it lights up with a missed text message.

**> Sasquatch: Headed home. Should be in around eight.**

As if on cue, I can hear someone in the kitchen rattling pots and pans. Most likely Dean making some heart-attack of a breakfast.

            I sit up against my pillows, throwing the covers off my legs before attempting to stand. And, as usual, the twinge of pain in my right knee is rearing its ugly head this morning.

            I lean over to my nightstand, pulling the drawer out. I fish through the many folded papers and pens, finding nothing even resembling my knee brace. Great.

            I manage to get on my feet, holding onto the walls as I head down the hallway toward the kitchen. I glance at the doors as I go, trying not to seem suspicious, but I am beginning to wonder if Ketch is already gone.

            If he knows what’s good for him, he probably left before the sun rose. But I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s that smart.

            When I stumble into the kitchen, I throw myself down in my spot on the bench at the table. I immediately recognize the breakfast as pancakes and bacon. My favorite.

Dean turns around from the stove with a smile when he hears me. “There’s the sleeping beauty,” he chuckles. He looks tired. “How’d you sleep kiddo?”

            “Good,” I reply through a yawn. “Not long enough. How’d you drive?”

            “Like a bat outta hell,” he replies with a snicker, focusing back on the pancake he’s cooking. Typical Dean. He prides himself in going thirty over the speed limit. “Sasquatch is sleeping. We got back about an hour ago.”

            I nod. “You didn’t sleep any?”

            He shakes his head, gesturing to the coffee mug on his left. “Nope. Had three of these and I’m good to go.” He grabs the pan and flips the pancake in the air, surprisingly landing the pancake back in the pan. “How many you want?”

            “One,” I breathe, resting my head in my hand. “Loads of bacon.”

            He gives the pan a strange look as he pours more batter, and no doubt that strange look is for me.

            “Just one? You okay?”

            I shrug, stretching my leg out next to me on the bench. “My knee hurts really bad again.” And damn me if I’m not worried Ketch is going to waltz in here like he did last night, only this time scolding Dean for hiding me from the world.

            But he never does.

            “I think I saw your brace in the library. The chair by the globe?”

            “Oh,” I laugh, remembering that that’s exactly where I did leave it yesterday. I got tired of wearing the damn thing halfway through the afternoon and took it off. “Thanks. Hey, can you…”

            I don’t need to finish my question because Dean is already walking my way, plate of _two_ pancakes in hand with a mountain of bacon on the side. I take the breakfast without argument.

            “So what’d you do while we were gone? Throw any parties? Is there a keg somewhere I haven’t found yet?”

            I roll my eyes, lathering syrup on my pancakes, careful not to hit my bacon, though. “You’re hilarious.” I read. And read some more. And researched. And had whiskey with the enemy – if he is still the enemy. Regardless, had whiskey and talked with someone whom is not supposed to know I exist.

            Dean laughs quietly to himself, finishing the pancakes. He shoves a plate of four into the oven on extremely low heat, keeping them warm for Sam when he eventually wakes up.

            Dean plops himself down in front of me at the table, stealing the syrup and using a generous amount on his three pancakes. I definitely got my love for syrup – and bacon –from him.

            “Oh,” he begins speaking through a mouthful of bacon, pausing to swallow. I watch in amusement, waiting. “Eileen is supposed to stop by today. Something about Dagon that she wanted to say in person.”

            My heart jumps a little. “Really?”

            He nods. “She said she’d be by around one or so.”

            I can’t help the smile that crawls onto my face from hearing this news.

            Eileen Leahy and I’s friendship is the definition of unexpected. A few months ago, Sam was on a video call with her. He forgot to mention this to me, so me being the nerd I am, I walked into the room with a book in hand, halfway through our signature, “So get this—” speech when we find something interesting.

            Eileen saw me in the corner of the frame and immediately asked who I was. This is also the first time I knew Sam had it bad for Eileen, because instead of doing the usual cover-up of me being a random hunter friend bunking with them for the week, he jumped instantly into the, “She’s my sister!” exclamation.

            Which of course then had to be followed with an explanation. Which then led to me learning that Eileen is deaf. Which, obviously, then led to me stealing Sam’s tablet and high jacking his video call to talk with Eileen and practice my sign language.

            She didn’t mind at all, and that’s where this friendship started.

            She doesn’t come around often, but when she does, it’s the best part of my day.

            After finishing my breakfast, I head into the library to find my knee brace – exactly where I left it, in the chair by the globe. I slide it onto my leg, sighing as the pressure relieves the pain. Not all of it, but enough where I can almost walk like a normal person back to my room to get dressed.

            I fall onto my bed when I return to my room, the restless sleep I had last night catching up with me already. I grab my phone out of habit, but nearly drop it when I see the message lighting up my screen.

**> Arthur: Don’t worry, love. I left at five this morning.**

            So now he has my number.

**> Funny, I don’t remember giving you my number.**

He might actually be insane.

            I look for clothes to try and calm myself down, still not sure if I should be grateful all he did is put his contact in my phone or if I should be pissed that he did it in the first place.

            I finally read his reply after I’m dressed.

**> Arthur: Well, your bunker is incredibly sparse in the sticky note department, so I had to send a text instead.**

            I know for a fact this is a load of bullshit, not because I can see a stack of sticky notes on my desk from where I’m sitting, but because he didn’t _have_ to do anything. He wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.

**> You sure about that?**

His reply is quicker than expected.

**> Arthur: Positive, love.**

            He has to be kidding.

            I can’t even reply to him. This is just…surreal. I was wrong, apparently. He’s still an ass.

**> Arthur: Keep in touch? Though your silence hardly appears to be promising.**

I stare at the message. Maybe it’s weirder because I don’t know him as Arthur. He’s Ketch. Knowing him on a first-name-basis is too intimate for the type of person he is.

**> First of all: I’m not your love. Second of all: how did you even put your contact in my phone?**

**> Ketch: You shouldn’t leave your phone in the library. I’m shocked I am not being thanked for returning the device to your room.**

Because—

**> Go to hell.**

**> Ketch: Oh, love. That would be a vacation.**

And when I don’t reply, he follows with a final text message.

**> Ketch: Keep in touch, love.**

I nearly throw my phone into the wall. All I can think is wanting to reply, “Oh hell no I won’t,” but I won’t give him the satisfaction of a response from me.

He can enjoy my silence.

 

* * *

 

 

The second Eileen arrives, I am throwing myself into her arms and we are rocking back and forth in a giant bear hug. I hear my brothers laughing at us, but we’re too excited to care.

            Eileen pushes back from the hug first, but I beat her to it by signing, “I’ve missed you so much!” before she can even think. She wasn’t expecting me to do this, though, because the smile that stretches across her lips as she signs, “Me too!” is the most adorable thing I’ve seen all day.

            Eileen moves to give Sam a hug next, squeezing him tightly. I can’t help but smile watching them, which earns me a jab in the ribs from my oldest brother. I shove his shoulder in response.

            “Alright, so, Dagon,” Sam begins, no doubt feeling awkward from Dean and I watching them.

            Eileen nods. “Dagon.” She glances at me with a smile, a silent reminder that she’s going to sign everything.

            She doesn’t normally, but ever since she heard I was trying to learn the language, she’s signed anything and everything, helping me learn as much as she possibly can. I soak it up as quickly and as accurately as I can.

            She confesses that when she called Sam yesterday with a lead on Dagon, she thought it was something bigger than it actually turned out to be. Apparently, Dagon has Kelly on the move, so the location that Eileen had snagged is now outdated. And vacant.

            But, Eileen promises she is still searching as much as she can. She’s determined to find something, which sends a prideful smile over Sam’s face.

            Dean ventures into the kitchen to get beers while we move into the library.

            Sam watches with a smile while Eileen teaches me more sign language, using one of the books I had out to help.

            Eventually, though, we start talking silently between each other when we see Sam has retired to reading a book. And Dean is too busy looking at something inappropriate on his computer.

            Tonight is the night I learn – at least directly; I’ve always known – that Eileen has the biggest of crushes on Sam. She refuses to admit this in front of him, though, but I cave and tell her that he’s been feeling the same for a long while.

            She jokingly asks if his hair is as soft as it looks.

            I tell her just _wait_ until he lets her braid it.

            She laughs, gaining the attention of Sam, but neither of us can answer him. He goes back to his book after giving us a strange look, which only spurs more laughing.

            I’ve missed her. More than I’ll admit I’m conscious of.

            And every time she comes around, all I am reminded of is how invisible – and _dead_ – I am to the outside world. And I always wonder why I wanted to stay hidden in the first place.

            I think I’m regretting it. A tiny bit.


	3. don't make me get my gun.

_you shine in the dead of the night/and i was the first to fall_

A week passes. Absolutely no word comes from Ketch.

            Apparently his “keep in touch” plan fell through. And I can’t say that I’m complaining.

            I can practically feel myself walking a little taller around the bunker. The past week has been from hell – except the day Eileen visited. Other than that, when it’s just been me and my brothers, I have done nothing but tiptoe around them.

            I don’t know why, either. Same as with the “if you wanted to kill me, you would have already” argument, I really believe that if Ketch was going to rat me out to my brothers or the Men of Letters, he would have already. And I would already be facing consequences.

            But I’m not. And he’s been silent.

            I remember being paranoid the first couple days, thinking they would somehow know he had been here. Thinking Sam might’ve accidently ventured into the wrong room and seen the wrinkled sheets from where Ketch slept. Thinking somehow, they could sense he had been there.

            But day in and day out, not a single mention of the British Men of Letters was made. Granted, since they returned from Site 94, they have tried keeping things from me. I made the mistake of opening up to them about how difficult those weeks were without them, and now I can tell they think they need to protect me.

            But it never works. I always ask questions and force answers out of them, so I’m not upset.

            It isn’t long before they find another hunt, though. Sam finds this one. It’s a mysterious case in Nebraska, one that he thinks is the doings of a hellhound.

            Goodbyes are said, and updates are promised, all while I remind them not to get on any government official’s bad sides. Again.

            Half of me expects Ketch to come strolling in as soon as the Impala’s tires leave the premises, but he doesn’t.

            At least, not that quickly.

            Shortly after I’ve gotten halfway through a book I had picked up earlier when the boys left, I hear the bunker door open and footsteps sound down the spiral stairs. I smirk, shaking my head when I look up from the book, spotting a certain Arthur Ketch walking into the library.

            “Knocking is a thing of the past now, I see.”

            “Yes, and apparently all you do is read.”

            I go to glare at him, only to find he’s smirking at me. Teasing. He’s teasing me.

            “Well,” he continues along, the smirk only becoming haughtier as the seconds pass, “I’m not an idiot, I come bearing booze.”

            I raise my eyebrows. “Smart man.”

            He walks over to the cabinet, reaching under and grabbing two glasses. “I’m in no shape to get my ass kicked tonight,” he pauses, glancing at my leg, “and you don’t appear to be in the shape to do so.”

            I sigh. I’m the idiot, leaving my leg propped up on the chair next to me like this. If I wanted to keep all of my secrets from him, I’m certainly doing a piss-poor job.

            “Yeah.”

            He takes the bottle out of the cylinder it comes in, and it’s my first time realizing that he brought different whiskey this time. Not in a paper bag.

            Okay, this one _seriously_ looks expensive.

            “So that’s it, then?” He asks, walking around my side of the table, holding out a crystal glass filled generously with whiskey.

            I take the glass, removing my leg from the chair. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

            He hums, pushing one of his hands into his pocket. He leans against the table next to my chair, his eyes studying the bookshelves behind us. “I’ll take over, then,” he pauses, looking down at the floor.

I watch him, wondering what in the world he could be even appearing the slightest bit nervous about. It’s not like him.

“I come bearing booze,” he pauses to chuckle, his eyes moving to mine, “but also a proposition.”

I groan, propping my head against my hand. “Not another sales pitch. Seriously, they’re bad.”

“No, no, not a sales pitch.” The words sound weird in his accent. An almost comical weird. American slang in a British accent is a weird combination. “Just…a proposition.” There’s another pause, he returns his eyes to his drink. “But first some questions.”

I take a sip of the whiskey, shaking my head. It’s good. Better than the last. “I’m not a fan of twenty questions.”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t have twenty questions then, isn’t it?”

There’s a beat of silence between us where I look at him in surprise. That was not the type of response I was expecting. I tilt my head. Well played, sir.

“Alright. What questions?”

“Do you ever leave this bunker?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Odd starter, but yes. Sometimes to go grocery shopping,  so Dean doesn’t buy a load of junk food, but never for long amounts of time. It’s kind of…difficult to…” I trail away without meaning to, my hand subconsciously rubbing the brace on my knee.

He catches the movement and I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him. I’m still having a sideline internal debate on why I haven’t kicked him out yet.

“Yes, well, I was going to ask about that as well, but I’m assuming I won’t get an answer.”

I shrug. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“I won’t press,” he says finally, taking a drink of his whiskey. “Have you read every book in this library?” Subject change.

I glance around the library with a smile. “Yeah. I think so.”

He hums again.

I roll my eyes, the pieces falling together. “Let me guess. That’s your proposition.”

“Pardon?”

“The British Men of Letters has a bigger library. More Lore. Anything else?”

“Nothing slips past you, does it?”

“Nope. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Perhaps I can interest you in something else.”

Score! Second eye roll of the night. “Now what?”

“Tea.”

The one-word response comes as a complete shock to me. So much so that it takes me a good moment before I can find any words.

“Tea?”

He nods, as if it’s obvious and I’m not missing some big piece of information. “Tea.”

I blink. “I still don’t think I understand what you’re trying to say. Maybe it’s the accent?”

“Very funny,” he swirls the whiskey around his glass. “I mean quite literally what I’ve said. Tea.”

There has to be a catch. Or something. “In exchange for what?”

“Why do you assume there would be an exchange?”

“Because no one asks me out for _tea_ ,” I emphasize the word with a horrible British accent, “without wanting something in return.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well I’m not asking for anything in exchange. Unless you consider your presence—”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why tea?” I ask, sitting up straighter in my chair. “Why tea and why are you asking all of the sudden?”

“Why do you sound so defensive?”

“In case you forget, the organization you work for isn’t necessarily on mine or my brother’s good side. I’m defensive because this is odd and sudden and most likely a trap.”

“Well, Miss Winchester, I take great offense to that last accusation.”

“Don’t make me get my gun.”

He smirks. “I’ll admit, it is sudden. And odd, coming from a man of my…repertoire. But there is no catch. It was simply an offer to get you out of these concrete walls.” He pauses then, a crack coming through in his expression. “I apologize if I came off as wanting something in return. It’s not the intention.”

I sigh, settling back into my chair. I watch as his eyes focus on the whiskey in his glass for a moment before moving to the bookshelves. But then – he must have sensed me looking at him – his eyes meet mine. And it’s different. Softer than I’ve ever seen him.

Oh, hell. How much damage can a cup of tea do? None, right?

“My brothers are in Nebraska,” I begin, narrowing my eyes. “They’re not far, but they are normally gone at least two days on a local case like these.” I pause, looking down into my glass. “Sam will text me when they are on their way back, so…if I haven’t received a text by tomorrow morning saying they are on their way back,” I exhale deeply, stalling because I’m not sure this a good decision, “then I don’t think having tea with you would be a…bad idea.”

His smirk returns. “You Winchesters have a long-winded way of saying a simple yes.”

I chuckle. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

I honestly can’t believe I agreed to have tea with him.

“So.”

I nod. “So.”

“Do you think they’ll be gone until tomorrow?”

If I’m not mistaken, I’d say he’s almost eager to know. “Yeah, Ketch. I think they’ll get in late tomorrow night or early Friday morning. Most likely early Friday if Dean decides to make a pit stop at a bar.”

“Alright,” he nods.

I almost laugh. This is too awkward. “You can sit, you know. My leg’s not in the chair anymore.”

“Right.”

He’s flustered, Lord help him.

He pulls the chair out and sits down, leaning back and resting his glass on his knee.

We’re going to go crazy if we sit here staring at one another, so I try my best to spark up some conversation, the whiskey in my system helping greatly.

I slide the bottle of whiskey toward me, reading the label. “Where’d you come across this shit?”

My question catches him off guard, but it’s enough to get him talking.

And for some ungodly reason, I don’t mind having him here.


	4. would you mind staying?

_if my heart had a choice/i’d tell you the stories/i always avoid_

“So, you’ve never hunted? Not a day in your life?”

            “I said I _don’t_ hunt,” I correct him. “Not that I never have.”

            “Ah,” he smirks, raising his whiskey glass almost triumphantly. “So you have.”

            I lick my lips, shaking my head. “Remind me why I haven’t kicked your ass yet.”

            “I’m simply trying to make conversation.”

            I narrow my eyes. I’ll give him that. “Fine,” I breathe, settling back in my chair. I swirl the whiskey around in my glass, tilting my head as I look for a suitable answer. “Before I died,” I nod, “I hunted. All the time. I was…raised in it.”

            He furrows his eyebrows. “And yet you’ve walked away.”

            I chuckle. “More like stumbled.” I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t get my joke, and it’s then when I remember I don’t normally joke about my knee like this. “I liked researching more anyway,” I shrug. “Sam and I have shared that interest. He sort of raised me to love reading and learning.”

            Ketch nods. “Sounds like you and Sam are close.”

            We’re venturing into more personal territory, something I wasn’t expecting when I started conversation with him earlier. I look to him, to find something in his expression, but there’s nothing. Just…genuine curiosity.

            “Yeah,” I finally answer. “We’re close.”

            He hums but doesn’t reply.

            Apparently, that’s the end of that conversation.

            My turn to be nosy. “What about you?”

            He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “What about me?”

            “Family?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “What’s your tragic backstory,” I pause, cracking a grin. “Every villain has one.”

            “I’d argue I’m not the villain.”

            “It was a joke, Ketch. Just answer the question.”

            I watch as the sides of his mouth quirk up in a small smile. He was teasing me again. Obviously.

            I’m still not used to him.

            “No family,” he replies finally, shaking his head. “The Men of Letters is my family.”

            I roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

            “Oh, don’t be so cross.”

            I stare at him.

            “The Men of Letters are all that I have. All that I need. Family is not necessary in the line of work I partake in.”

            “Or a relationship?” Ah, there’s the alcohol. I was wondering when she was going to start talking.

            I can tell my reply has caught him off guard as he opens his mouth to reply, furrowing his eyebrows. He answers carefully. “Yes. Or a relationship.”

            I use one of his tactics: humming and not verbally replying.

            He doesn’t seem to like it when I do it to him. I watch as he shifts uncomfortably, his knee brushing against mine ever so slightly.

            The weird jolt of electricity that comes from it refuses to go unnoticed, though, shooting through my leg and into my hip.

            Odd. That is a first, I have to say.

            I glance at my phone for the time, finding that it’s just past midnight. I sigh, flipping the device back over.

            “I guess I should get some sleep at some point.”

            He nods, setting his empty crystal glass down on the table. “That would be wise, yes.”

            I finish off the remaining whiskey in my glass, my neck heating up either from the alcohol or from the obvious eyes watching me. I set the glass down, preparing myself to stand. Let’s hope my knee cooperates.

            Of course, it doesn’t. That’s asking too much of it apparently.

            “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, leaning against the edge of the table when pain shoots down my leg.

            “Everything alright?”

            I chuckle. “Uh, not really.” I try straightening my leg out, but that only sends a second jolt of pain through my leg. Never mind. Not trying that again.

            Ketch stands from his chair, pushing it back and out of the way. He turns and holds out his left arm.

            I stare at it like he’s just pulled a gun on me. And when I don’t take it, he gives me a tired look.

            “You can let me help you or you can sleep out here. Which will it be?”

            I wasn’t expecting that, so I do what I do best. I crane my neck to look at the table behind me, a small smile fighting its way onto my lips. “I dunno. The table looks pretty comfy. I’ve slept out here before.”

            The glare that follows is strong enough to make me laugh, grabbing his arm.

            “Fine, grumpy. Lead the way.”

            Like a true gentleman – I am still getting used to him being entirely different from how my brothers describe him – he helps me to my room. He guides me down to my bed, pulling the covers back so I can lay underneath them.

            “Do you sleep with this brace on?”

            “Sometimes,” I reply, grabbing the covers and throwing them off of my body. It’s too hot.

            “You shouldn’t,” is his only response before I feel hands on my brace, loosening the straps.

            I try to swat him away. “It’s fine.”

            “You’d rather your leg lose circulation?”

            I’m too tired to bother with him anymore, so I allow him to slide the brace down my leg and lay it on the nightstand. I feel him try to move the covers back over me, but I shove his hands away.

            “It’s too hot.”

            I hear him sigh in defeat before I hear him walking over to turn the light out. When it finally goes out, I roll back over, narrowing my eyes to see his silhouette, the hallway light behind him.

            “Night.”

            With his hand on the doorknob ready to leave my room, I hear him reply, “Goodnight, Joy.”

            He shuts the door, blocking out all light. I fall asleep almost immediately.

 

* * *

 

 

I’m not sure when the nightmare begins. All I know is when it ends, I wake to my room illuminated by the hallway light, my door cracked open. And my lamp is on.

            I glance around the room, my chest rising and falling rapidly. The clock on my nightstand tells me it’s almost three. I look a little further and find Ketch sitting in the chair by my desk, his arms crossed over his chest. His…He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. An obvious contrast to the usual finely pressed suit I have seen him in.

            But it’s not a contrast so harsh that I can’t admire it.

            “What?” I ask, the defensive tone lacing my words bleeding over from the nightmare.

            “You were screaming.”

            I roll my eyes, moving to sit up in my bed, the covers still thrown to the side. “So you thought staring at me would be less creepy than waking me up?”

            “I’ve learned not to wake those suffering from nightmares,” he pauses, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “It has to run its course.”

            I nearly roll my eyes again. What kind of bullshit excuse is that? I can still feel some of the affects from the alcohol in my system, so I remind myself to calm down.

            I sigh, nodding, realizing now that his words make sense. “Fair enough.”

            He takes that as his cue to leave, standing from the chair and smoothing his shirt down. I smirk. It must be a habit from wearing suits all of the time.

            He’s barely to the door when the last bit of alcohol in my system begins talking. When the scared kid inside of me doesn’t want to be alone with another nightmare – because I know how I work, and if there’s one, there’s always a second that follows.

            Word vomit comes out of my mouth. “Wait, Ketch,” I pause, watching as he raises his eyebrows expectantly. I sigh. He looks so…soft like this. “Would you—You don’t have to, but…would you mind staying?”

            He furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not sure that chair is the most comfortable place for sleep.”

            I chuckle, “No, I meant,” I nod my head to the side, gesturing at the empty space on my bed while my eyes study the sheets. “But it’s fine. You don’t need to.”

            He doesn’t answer and when I finally look at him, I realize it’s because that’s what he was waiting for. He already has my door closed, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a smile.

            Teasing. I should have known.

            “I don’t mind,” he replies, walking around the other side of the bed. He slides under the covers, his feet knocking against mine.

            “Oh, here.” I move one of the pillows behind him, sinking down against my own.

            I decide to get under the covers this time, though I don’t have much of a choice as he tosses them over my legs. I can’t help the small smile that crawls onto my lips as I settle down into the bed, laying on my back to stare at the ceiling.

            “The last thing I expected was for you to invite me into your bed.”

            I roll my eyes, turning over to lay more comfortably on my side. And I hate to say I don’t object when I feel him move closer behind me, his arm snaking around my waist.

            “And the last thing I expected was for you to be a fan of cuddling,” I tease.

            I feel his arm tighten around my waist, his voice soft. “Get some rest.”

            I close my eyes. I can’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

 

Oddly enough, another nightmare doesn’t follow.

            I wake closer to nine in the morning, feeling the absence of an arm around my waist. I wonder for a moment if I dreamed that.

            I glance around my room, finding no sign of Ketch or evidence that he slept next to me last night.

            I sigh, running my hands over my face in an effort to wake myself up. I feel around for my phone, finding it under my pillow this time. I check my messages, remembering that I did agree to have tea with Ketch today…as weird as it sounds.

**> Sasquatch: Might be a couple days. This one is tricky and Dean found a bar.**

I laugh, shaking my head. Only Dean.

**> Alright. Let me know if you guys need anything.**

And strangely enough, I am glad they’re going to be a couple days. Tea with Ketch sounds weird but getting out of this bunker doesn’t. I can’t remember the last time I was out because the last grocery trip the boys made was on the way home from a hunt because I complained that we had no food. So it’s been longer than usual since I’ve been out. I think I’m itching to get out of here.

            I manage to get myself out of bed and into some clothes before my knee starts acting up. I sit down on the edge of my bed, pulling the brace over my jeans and tightening the straps. I stretch my leg out in front of me, easing the dull ache.

            I reach for my boots that are always shoved under the edge of my bed – I hardly ever wear them – pulling them over my feet and tying the laces. I can feel my heart wanting to beat faster than my body is letting it, the excitement of leaving the bunker after so long finally catching up with me.

            I know if Dean was here he’d kill me. I know Sam wouldn’t exactly be thrilled, either.

            But I’m…I’m an adult. Whether they like it or not, I am an adult. I can make decisions for myself now. Granted, I haven’t done much of that since I’ve been back, but that isn’t the point. I wasn’t ready to, back then. I think I’m ready now.

            Or I’m stupid. One of the two.

            “I presume they are not returning today?”

            I look up from the floor upon hearing that sweet – albeit sometimes annoying – accent of his. I shake my head. “Nope. Sam said they might be a few days.” I pause to chuckle. “Dean found a bar.”

            “Ah,” Ketch replies. “Then I suppose you still accept my offer?”

            I can’t help the grin that splits across my lips. “I didn’t get dressed for nothing. Let’s go.”

            I stand, tucking my phone in my back pocket before following him out the door. I watch as he studies my knee, giving me a surprised glance before pausing next to the library.

            “You seem to be walking much easier.”

            “Yeah,” I smile, swinging my leg back a forth a little. It’s different, the good days. There aren’t many, but when they do come, I love them. “Sometimes I have good days. Thankfully today might be one of them.”

            “Well,” he pauses, holding out his arm. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

            I chuckle. “Let’s not.” I grab his arm, allowing him to help me up the spiral stairs and out the bunker’s main door.

            When we make it outside, the sun is brighter than expected. I cover my eyes with my hand, a laugh bubbling out of my chest. It’s bright, but damn it feels good on my skin.

            And then there’s his car.

            My jaw nearly drops to the floor. “Is that a Bentley?”

            He smirks. “Quite.” He studies my face for a moment before unlocking the doors. “Perplexed?”

            “Uh, yeah,” I breathe through another laugh. “Wait, I thought you drove a motorcycle?”

            “Ah, the Norton. Yes, I do.” He begins walking toward the Bentley, guiding me with him, my arm still wrapped around his. “Except when I have passengers.”

            I drop my hand from my forehead, giving him an incredulous look. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle, you know.”

            That smirk on his lips seems to be infinite. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

            My heart jumps a little at the mention of a _next time_. There’s a certain thrill that has come with spending time with Ketch. I don’t remember when I stopped wanting to be harsh and started wanting to get to know him. The lines are blurred, but they appear to be the same for him, too.

            Sam and Dean have described him as…odd. Mysterious. Someone who creeps them out. And while I find Ketch mysterious, one thing I have yet to feel is that he creeps me out. Everything seems to be…perfect. Different. New.

            He lets go of my arm to open the passenger door for me, gesturing me inside. Trying and failing to hide some of the shock still left on my face.

            It all looks too expensive. I feel like I shouldn’t even be sitting here.

            When Ketch slides into the driver’s seat, I try to act cool and reach back to buckle myself in. I hear him doing the same before he starts the engine, soft jazz music radiating through the car’s speakers almost immediately.

“Jazz?”

            He gives me a strange look, like it isn’t at all weird that he listens to soft jazz. In his car. “Yes…”

            I shake my head, smiling. “Just didn’t take you as a man who likes jazz.” Whatever happened to classic rock? England was home to some amazing bands during that time. Pink Floyd? Zeppelin? The Rolling Stones?

            “Or cuddling.”

            My eyes snap to his, his addition to my statement smacking the sarcasm right out of my thoughts. I feel the heat rising from my neck, spilling over onto my cheeks as I let out a breathy laugh, averting my eyes to the trees in front of us. “So that wasn’t a dream.”

            He puts the car in drive, beginning to turn around to face the road. “I’m afraid not.”

            “I wanted to thank you, but I didn’t know if I made it up,” I pause, looking at him. It’s easier to look at him while he focuses on the road. “So now that I know I didn’t – thank you.”

            He glances at me for a brief moment, a small smile settling over his lips. “It’s no problem. Now, where do you like to have breakfast?”

            I give him a tired look.

            He does a double take before nodding. “Right. I’m sure I can find something.” While still driving, he punches a few buttons on the console before a map pops up.

            My eyes widen in shock. Again, I’m used to Baby. Not a Bentley.

            But…I can feel myself fighting back a grin…I like the Bentley. I’m a geek for technology, especially _new_ technology. New to me, at least.

            I don’t know what it is, but whenever I’m around him I’m fighting back a grin. I can’t remember ever feeling like this – not since I’ve been back, and before I died. This is new.

            And I think I’m starting to really like it.


	5. you're lucky you're a good kisser.

_all of these feelings are saying/that i could never find a better love than you_

Ketch pulls into the gravel driveway of what looks like a slightly less run-down version of diners that I can remember eating at with Sam and Dean during hunts. Those were run-down because they were, well, old. But this one looks new. Like it’s rustic appearance is on purpose, not the product of being taken care of less than it should.

            Once inside, Ketch and I take a booth by the window. We sit across from each other, which normally is okay, but as the seconds have passed, it is harder and harder for me to quit staring at him like he’s some stranger.

            I can’t help it.

            The waitress snaps me out of it, asking what we’d like. I allow Ketch to order, saying we’ll have two cups of hot tea to start. She gives us a weird look – most people probably order coffee, which I could actually go for, but I promised him I would have tea with him – before going off to fill the order.

            Instead of staring at Ketch like I’m crazy, I opt for staring around the diner, thinking that looks more acceptable.

            And it does. He just feels the need to spark conversation.

            “You really don’t leave that bunker much, do you?”

            I shake my head, my eyes falling down to meet his. “Nope. I uh—I remember, before I died, coming to diners like these.” I look back around, a small smile settling over my lips. “I forgot how much I love these places.”

            I can feel him looking at me, his eyes studying my expression. I’m preparing myself for a comment about what a shame it is that I never leave that bunker, that I never go outside. But one never comes. I instead let my eyes finally meet his after a few moments of feeling his stare, a light blush settling over my cheeks.

            “I wouldn’t mind doing…this – more often.”

            I raise my eyebrows, teasing, “Don’t you have a job?”

            “I do, yes, but it is not a job that currently requires my attention every single day.”

            I smirk. “I can tell.” I think if he was supposed to be more closely involved with his job, he wouldn’t be spending nights at the bunker with me or sitting here with me to have tea.

            “All I am saying,” he pauses when the waitress comes over with two cups and a small kettle of tea. She sets the kettle down alongside a bowl of sugar and cream before taking our orders. He waits until she is gone to continue. “All I am saying, is I would not mind taking you outside those concrete walls more often.”

            I hum, watching as he pours tea in both of our cups.

“It would have to be when Sam and Dean are hunting,” I blurt, watching as he stops halfway from putting sugar in his tea to listen to me. “I don’t think they’d want to know about this, but…” I trail away, my earlier argument coming to mind. I have to believe in it. “But I’m an adult. And if they don’t like that, it’s their problem.”

It feels foreign to hear those words actually coming out of my mouth. I have thought them many times. Many times, before I met Ketch. When I wanted to leave in the night and go stay in a new town for a couple days. Obviously, I never went through with the plan, but the argument has been stored in my mind for months. I never thought I would hear it out loud.

“You and your long-winded yes.” He smirks, lifting his cup of tea to his mouth.

I nearly roll my eyes. “And you still tease me like you think I won’t take it back.”

He studies me for a moment before shaking his head. “Fine then, no more teasing. I accept your long-winded agreement.”

“And I accept your accent and failure to use big words to impress me,” I retort, holding my cup of tea up in a _cheers_ gesture.

“Oh, Miss Winchester, you are something else.”

“Oh, Mr. Ketch,” I smirk, “I could say the same about you.”

Our orders make it to the table a few moments later – my pancakes and his egg white omelet, which makes me laugh because that’s exactly what Sam orders anywhere they go. Or at least, he used to. He probably still does.

We eat in silence, except for my occasional recognition of a song playing through the Jukebox, which I then have to spend five minutes talking about the music and its history.

And still, despite all I’ve heard, Ketch is the opposite of it all. He listens intently, proving insight or opinion where he can, but is never too much.

He pays attention. And wants to. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention because he has to, because he wants me to shut up. He’s listening to me because…he wants to.

“I could never get tired of hearing you speak,” he finally says, which only causes my face to flush red. “The passion.” He shakes his head, grabbing his tea. “Only makes me wonder how you have kept yourself in that bunker for so long.”

I chuckle. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have many escape plans that I never went through with.”

He furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head. He needs to stop that, too. Every time he does it it’s a little harder to not jump across the table.

“What happened?”

“I was scared,” I shrug. “I didn’t want to go alone. And my knee situation doesn’t help matters exactly.”

He nods. “Right. The dreaded knee situation.”

A tease. I’m catching on now. “Dreaded is definitely a good word for it.”

We finish our tea and breakfast in silence, leaving a twenty on the table – which is Ketch’s, despite my many protests. But I can’t do much because I didn’t bring my wallet with me, so I grumble the whole way to the car, my arms crossed over my chest.

“You are quite adorable when you are angry with me.”

I glare at him, leaning back against the Bentley. “And you’re an asshole for letting me walk off without my wallet!” I uncross my arms, fighting back the smile trying to crawl on my lips. No matter how hard I try, I can never be genuinely angry with him. “I feel bad for not paying.”

He shakes his head. “It was my treat.” He looks for a second like he might be moving to open my door for me, but he doesn’t.

I start trying to fill the silence, a bundle of nerves settling in my stomach when he moves closer. “Thank you,” I murmur. He stops, the toes of his shoes barely hitting mine. “For the tea. And breakfast. I haven’t been out in so long, it’s nice to—”

He’s laughing. I feel the blush rising on my cheeks, and not knowing what else to do, I shove his chest in a useless attempt to stop him. I don’t know why I try. He holds onto my wrist, smoothing his hand up until his fingers lace with mine. I swallow thickly, my eyes trained on his hand—our hands, now fitted together. The nerves in my stomach are in a frenzy, my cheeks probably redder than they’ve ever been in my entire life.

“I will never tire of making you blush.”

My eyes flick to his. I let out a breathy chuckle when he moves closer, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I’m not—I’m not blushing.”

“Oh, love,” he smiles, his other hand moving to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing gently against my skin. I sigh, letting my eyes droop closed. His touch…it’s— “You are one horrid liar.”

I go to protest, to call him an asshole one more time, but I’m silenced before I can even think twice. I don’t move, frozen from the nerves and the adrenaline. His body pressed against mine, I can’t think properly—

His lips ghost over mine, unsure. His left hand still cups my cheek, I grab his wrist, needing something to hold onto when he kisses me again, gentler, his lips brushing against my own. I finally find some sense, moving with him. I release my grip on his wrist, my now free hand moving to tangle in his hair, tug him closer.

Closer, dammit. He needs to be closer.

My fingers splay at the base of his neck, pushing him closer. He unlaces our fingers, wrapping his arm around my waist, humming deeply as he pulls me closer.

I pull back after a moment, desperately needing some air. He tries to chase me down, not wanting to stop, which only causes me to laugh, smoothing my hands down his chest.

He opens his eyes, that little smile of his settling over his lips. I fight back a grin, resisting the urge to grab his tie and pull him in again, for another round. He’s still not close enough.

“That was…unexpected,” I chuckle, abandoning all control and wrapping my hand around his tie.

He glances down at my hand, raising an eyebrow. “I’m full of surprises, but you…”

I laugh, shaking my head as I pull him back in, wrapping my arms around his neck. He is…intoxicating. Better than any whiskey or beer or any form of alcohol on the market. He’s pure thrill.

“I would love for this to continue,” he mumbles against my lips, “but I don’t want to give them too much of a show.”

I can feel another blush forming. “We’re border lining public indecency, aren’t we?”

I feel him pull me closer, landing one last kiss on my lips. “You have no idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

We’re halfway through the drive home when I realize we’re not going home. He’s driving the complete wrong way of the bunker.

            “Wait,” I sit up straighter, glancing at a road sign. Parker Street. North. We’re going north. Shouldn’t we be going east? I sigh tiredly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Where are we going?”

            He glances at me briefly before settling his gaze on the road. “Why?”

            “Because I know you well enough to know we’re not going to look at some extravagant waterfall.”

            He smirks. “Why do you assume I don’t like waterfalls?”

            “Ketch. I’m serious.”

            I hear him sigh, reaching forward to turn the classic rock down – yes, he let me change the station. “I know you have told me you don’t wish to join—”

            “Seriously?” I already know where this is going. “They’re not supposed to know I exist!”

He looks at me with such frustration it almost scares me. “You know, I hear you say all the time that they aren’t _supposed_ to know. What do _you_ want?” He pauses, looking at me with raised eyebrows. “Do you want them to know who you are?”

            I sigh. “I don’t know.”

            “Well, I can assure you Mick will be pleased to meet you,” he pauses, and I can sense the hesitation in his voice. “Your brothers have been rather…cold.”

            I scoff. “For good reason.”

            “Yes, I don’t disagree.” He pauses, and I can see him turn his head to look at me. “But you seem to have forgiven us.”

            My eyes snap to his. That look he’s giving me is knowing. Have I forgiven them? I really don’t know. Toni – or whatever her name was – is the only one who hurt Sam. Last I heard from Sam is that when Dean finally found him, Mick had taken down the warding, letting Cas in. Mick promised to help. And Mick did help. If it wasn’t for Mick – and Ketch, for that matter – my brothers might still be in Site 94.

            So, they can’t _all_ be bad. Ketch certainly doesn’t appear to be as horrible as the boys have said, so…maybe they’re wrong.

            “I don’t know,” I finally reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I still don’t like what Toni did to Sam, but,” I pause, finally looking at him, “she was one person. I think I’m ready to give…everyone a second chance. Clean slate.”

            He nods, that knowing smile of his settling over his lips. “That’s what I like to hear.”

            I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re a good kisser,” I tease, earning a shake of the head from him. “So, what are we doing while we’re there?” I ask, after a moment of thinking.

            Yes, going to the British Men of Letters…compound, or whatever, isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my day, but spending it cooped up in the bunker isn’t how I want to spend it, either. I’ve barely been out for two hours and if I went back now I might go crazy.

            “Just a tour,” he shrugs. “A walk around the compound. See how things operate.” He moves his hand to my thigh, catching my attention. “You are not obligated or expected of anything by taking a tour.”

            I chuckle, resting my hand on top of his. “I know.” I pause, admiring his profile for a moment longer. “Is there a library?”

            He laughs, licking his lips. “Yes, love. There is a library. Smaller than yours, but it is there.”

            “Good,” I say, smirking. The library doesn’t sweeten the deal, but the prospect of a tour doesn’t seem too bad if Ketch will be next to me the entire time.

           


	6. who's jealous now?

_i know that i can be frustrating/promise you my touch will explain_

The compound is…not what I was expecting.

            First of all, it’s bigger than I was imagining. I knew they had to be in a big space simply because of what all they’re doing, but this isn’t what I was expecting.

            Ketch rolls the Bentley up to the gates, letting his window down to nod at the guard who then presses his hand on a screen. The gates move away, letting us through. Ketch rolls his window back up, trying not to smile as I look around with wide eyes.

            He pulls around into what looks like a garage. The first thing I see is his motorcycle, and a grin splits across my lips at the sight.

            Too caught up in the bike, I don’t realize Ketch has slipped out of the car and is now standing in front of me, holding my door open for me.

            He chuckles, following my eyes. “We can look at the motorbike later.”

            Right. I’m here for a tour. Of the compound.

            I step out of the Bentley, feeling the dull ache settling back into my knee. I sigh, holding onto the side of the car, stretching my leg out. I can feel him looking at me, his eyes no doubt filled with a hint of worry.

            After a few seconds, the pain falls away. It’s still a good day. “Okay,” I breathe, trying to smile. “I’m good. Where do we start?”

            He nods, looking relieved as he shuts the passenger door behind me. “Well, this is the garage. It’s never full, but it’s here.” He pauses to walk around to the trunk of the car, pulling out what looks like a duffle bag. When he sees me giving him a weird look, he clarifies and says he needs to drop it off at the Armory. “Let’s go inside.”

            I smirk. “Let’s,” I repeat, trying my best to mimic his accent.

The glare I receive will go down in history books. It doesn’t last long, though, because I try and fail to stifle my laughter, which ends with him shaking his head, flashing his small smile. He waves me along, walking us around to a section, a large and bold ‘ **A4** ’ on the side.

After walking down a hallway of sorts, we turn right, and that’s when the tour officially begins.

“These are rooms. Most of them are occupied, but we keep a few spares,” he gives me a knowing look that I return with a blank stare. He takes that as his cue to leave it alone and continue.

He shows me their kitchen, and a few scattered meeting rooms that are currently empty. We turn down another hallway – this place is a maze – and run into my first British Men of Letters outside of Ketch.

            “Oh, Serena, you’re headed past the Armory, if you wouldn’t mind. Unpack and reshelf.”

She takes the bag but lets out a heavy sigh. “I have three PhD’s.”

            “Yes, and we’re all very proud of you luv, now—”

            He goes to continue the tour, but I cut him off – more pissed at him tossing _love_ around like that or him trying to hand his stuff off like he’s too good to deal with it, I don’t know. “Serena, hi. Just,” I shake my head, “give it to me. We’re going by the Armory anyway.” I hold out my hand expectantly, trying to calm the look of sheer frustration on my face. After a moment of hesitation, she hands the bag off to me.

            When I take it, I roll my eyes – thank god my back is facing him. The bag barely weighs ten pounds. And he couldn’t carry it to the Armory? Seriously?

            “Excuse me, have we met?”

            Right. I forget I’m going to be handing out introductions a lot today. I set the bag down at my feet, holding out my hand, this time for her to shake. “I don’t think so. I’m Joy. Winchester.”

            Her eyebrows raise in surprise. I suppose I’m going to have to get used to that, too. She takes my hand. “Welcome, Miss Winchester. I’m Serena Coleman, Head of Security and Surveillance.”

            I nod, flashing a smile. “Lovely to meet you. I’m here touring the operation, so I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

            She tucks her hands behind her back, giving me a small smile. “I sure hope so.” I watch as her eyes flick to the person behind me, and no doubt she’s receiving a death glare from Ketch.

            I nearly roll my eyes. I mouth, “I’ll deal with him,” to which she nods, giving me a strange look before turning to walk away.

            I reach down for the duffle bag, only to find it’s no longer at my feet. I turn around to face Ketch, the bag in his hand and scowl on his face. “Oh, so you _can_ carry it. Imagine that.” The sarcasm is dripping from my words, fueled by the anger or stupid jealousy – if it’s even that – I’m not sure.

            “You’re playing with fire, love.”

            Ah, _love_. He doesn’t even say it differently when it’s directed to me. It’s all the same. I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’m on a tour?”

            He studies my face for a moment before nodding. “Yes, well, since I have this to deal with now—”

            “Oh, don’t complain,” I interject, crossing my arms over my chest. “It barely weighs anything. And you’re giving me a tour. We’ll pass the Armory eventually. I doubt it will kill you to hold onto it until we do.”

            “I need my Sig Sauer to be cleaned.”

            I raise an eyebrow. “And you can’t do that yourself?”

            He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m giving you a tour.”

            “Thanks for the reminder.”

            “Is everything alright?”

            Really? “I’m fine.”

            He eyes me carefully, nodding down the hallway ahead of us. “Yes, well, the Armory is this way.”

            I tilt my head triumphantly. Damn right it is. “Let’s go.”

I push past him, following the literal sign that says ‘Armory’. I can feel my knee wanting to protest, most likely from walking around this much because this isn’t something I normally do. I try my best to not look like I’m in pain when I stop outside the Armory.

He steps forward and pressed his hand against a screen much like the one that was outside the gates. “There’s benches in here,” he says.

And just like that, I sigh, the frustration slowly melting away.

I walk in after him, practically falling down on the bench against the right wall. I turn my body, stretching my leg across the bench next to me. I listen to him taking out his various weapons, placing them back on the shelves. I lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes.

The pain is pulsing through my knee now, spreading into my thigh. I’m remembering now why I don’t leave the bunker often. I think my pain meds are on my bathroom counter still.

“Are you in pain?”

I chuckle, opening my eyes to see him facing me, cleaning what must be his Sig Sauer. It looks different to what guns I used to use. “No, no, I’m just…” I sigh, grimacing when another wave of pain shoots up my leg. “I’m just peachy.”

“I can get a doctor for you.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

“Love, you—”

“Ketch.” I cut him off, glaring. “I said it’s fine.”

He inhales deeply, returning his focus to his gun. “Alright then.” He waits a moment before he says something else. “You’re quite harsh when you’re in pain.”

I know I am. I don’t need him to tell me that. “And you’re quite harsh handing off your bag to Serena like you’re too good to handle them yourself.”

“You’ve been angry since then. Serena normally cleans and takes care of my weapons for me, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m sure she has more important things to do than deal with your stuff.”

I hear him sigh, but it’s knowing. “Ah. I understand now.”

I glance at him briefly before closing my eyes again, leaning my head back against the wall. “Understand what?”

“You are _glowing_ with jealousy.”

I want to look at him, just so I can roll my eyes, call him an asshole, tell him he’s wrong. Tell him I want to go back to the bunker if he’s going to act like this. But I don’t move. His accusation has caught me off guard and I don’t know if it’s because of the truth it holds or because I was stupid enough to make it obvious enough where he could see it.

So, I do what I do best. Scoff and deny. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?”

My eyes open upon hearing his question, sounding much closer than when he last spoke. And I am right. He’s in front of me, looking down at me.

I can feel my cheeks heating up. I can’t help it when he looks at me like that.

I swing my legs around and off the bench, putting them between him and me. Distance. Boundaries. “You are,” I finally reply, my eyes refusing to meet his.

He steps around my legs and places himself on the bench next to me, turning his body to face me. I continue looking at the floor. I don’t trust my eyes right now.

I flinch when he laces his fingers with mine, gaining my attention. His free hand moves to cup my jaw, turning my face to look at him, but I close my eyes before I have time to look at him.

He lets out another sigh. “We are not going to get anywhere if you keep your eyes closed.”

My eyes snap open then, his face so close that his nose is just barely touching mine. “I’m not jealous,” I say again, one last desperate attempt.

He shakes his head, whispering, “Whatever makes you feel better, love,” before he leans in further, connecting his lips with mine.

I inhale deeply, this feeling something I could get used to. It’s dangerous, his kiss. Lethal.

I turn my body toward him, moving closer, pulling back to breathe. I let one of my hands tangle in his hair, the other pressed against his chest.

I chuckle when he finally opens his eyes. “You’re good at that.”

“As are you,” he replies, leaning in again.

I laugh against his mouth, which earns me a soft bite on my bottom lip. It catches me off guard, a gasp escaping my mouth, which only allows him to deepen the kiss. His arm snakes around my waist, tugging me closer as he squeezes my hip gently. His thumb continuously brushes over the skin underneath my eye – a soothing habit of his, I’m noticing.

“Okay,” I murmur, trying to pull back, but failing. “You still have to…finish the tour.”

“We are here for a reason, aren’t we?” He chuckles, landing one last kiss on my lips, removing his arm from around me and his hand from my cheek. “We’ve been here long enough.”

I give him a look.

He cups my face again, softly. “Long enough that someone might be suspicious.”

That’s more like it. “Fair enough.” I stand from the bench, my knee deciding to cooperate for the time being with only a small twinge of pain left circulating around.

He straightens his tie – I must have been subconsciously tugging on it the whole time – before opening the door for me, gesturing for me to step out first.

Trying to appear as we weren’t just making out like lovesick teenagers, we head in the direction of what Ketch calls the main room, where briefing and surveillance and anything else under the sun takes place.

I think he’s summarizing because he’s having just as hard a time as I am to not pull him in for a kiss in this hallway, but that’s just my opinion.

The main room looks like it’s purpose is exactly as Ketch described: formalities. I see Serena watching over the surveillance footage, flashing her a smile when she notices me.

            We stop around the table in the middle, so I can look around. It looks like a low-budget Mission Impossible, but it’s not terrible.

            “Ketch!” A new voice announces. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone by.”

            I turn around, recognizing the voice.

            Mick. Mick Davies. Another British Men of Letters I have spoken with.

            “Yes, well—”

            Mick interrupts Ketch, sticking his hand out in my direction. “I’m Mick Davies. Pleasure to meet you.”

            I take his hand, shaking it firmly before letting go. It doesn’t feel the same as Ketch’s. “I’m Joy…” I take a deep breath. “Joy Winchester.” I watch as his eyebrows raise almost comically in surprise, his eyes immediately looking to Ketch. I take a deep breath. I might as well confess. “I talked to you before. I called you when my brothers were in Site 94 and we needed help finding them.”

            Mick tilts his head, this time in entirely comical shock. “That was you?”

            I nod. “Sorry about the whole ‘I’m a hunter friend’ bullshit. No one knew I existed at that point.” I look to Ketch, a small smile settling over my face when I see the expression of pride on his features as he looks at me. “But I think I’m ready to start existing again. So, surprise,” I laugh, trying to lighten the situation as I turn back to Mick, “I’m not dead.”

“A surprise indeed.” Mick’s accent is so much different from Ketch’s. “Our records say you died seven years ago of a deal with a Reaper. We assumed there was no way you’d be alive after what you did.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. Mick has absolutely no filter, I’m learning.

“Yeah.” I nod, feeling Ketch’s eyes drilling holes into the side of my head. Either he didn’t know the full details, or this is the first time he’s hearing it aloud, either way, he doesn’t seem excited about the new fact. “So, nice operation you’ve got set up here.”

Mick takes the bait of the subject change and runs with it. “Yes! Let me show you around.”

I can feel Ketch’s presence behind me at all times. No doubt will I have to explain myself on the ride back to the bunker later.

“This is Serena Coleman, our Head of Security and Surveillance.”

I flash a smile in her direction. “We crossed paths in the hallway. Nice to see you again.”

I watch as she eyes me carefully, her eyes moving back and forth between Ketch and me. “And you as well.”

Mick gives us a strange look but continues. “This is Alton Morehead, our Head of R&D – weapons development, spell work, that sort of thing.”

I nod in his direction. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

Okay, the politeness is sweet. But I might be sick. There’s no way they deal with one another talking like this all day.

“So, Joy,” Mick speaks, gaining my attention. “If we were told you died seven years ago, where have you been hiding out all this time?”

I let out a breathy chuckle. I feel Ketch step closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. It takes every ounce of willpower I own not to lean into him.

“I just got back a few months ago, so I was really dead for a while.” I pause. “But now I just research in the bunker.”

“A Winchester that’s not a Hunter?”

I shake my head. “Not anymore.”

Alton is the next to speak. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day. So you strictly research?”

I nod. “I find cases and give my brothers as much information as they need. It helps that the bunker has such a vast selection of Lore just sitting around.”

“Speaking of Lore,” Ketch begins, stepping forward. “I promised her a tour. Our last stop is your library, Mick.”

If I’m not mistaken, Mick almost glares at Ketch before nodding, his features taking on a softer expression when he looks at me. “Of course. Follow me.”

I can tell that isn’t the response Ketch wanted by the look on his face, but I follow Mick without hesitation, wanting to see if Ketch was telling the truth.

And he was. The library is small.

“It’s nothing compared to your bunker, I imagine.” Mick almost seems nervous about letting me in here.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books, not recognizing a couple of the titles.

“You can borrow any you’d like to read,” Mick’s offer breaks through the silence, my hopeful eyes finding his almost immediately.

“Really?”

He nods. “I don’t see why not.”

I smile. “Thank you.” My eyes are back on the books as soon as they can be.

“It’s almost time for the briefing, I’m afraid, so—”

“I’ll stay with her,” Ketch interrupts.

I hear Mick sigh. “Ketch, you are part of this team as well. You are supposed to be at the briefing.”

“You can fill me in later. Go on, now. Don’t want you to be late.”

Mick footsteps echo down the hallway a moment later, followed by the sound of Ketch closing the door. I smirk, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

“What are you smiling at, love?”

“Are you and Mick friends?”

I can tell the question strikes a chord with him because he squares his shoulders. “We went to school together.”

“Oh,” I hum, raising my eyebrows. “One of those friends.”

I had many of them. Many because we never really stayed in one place long enough. And when I went into an online program for high school, I finished and had my GED before I even turned seventeen. All of those “We went to school together” friends are ghosts now.

“He seemed to take a liking to you.”

Without taking my eyes off the books, I tease, “Who’s jealous now?”

Pressed up against the crates of books with Ketch’s body molded against mine was not how I was planning to end that conversation, but it’s exactly how it ended.


	7. you are dangerous.

“So, was that part of the tour?” I tease, shrugging my jacket back on my shoulders.

            “Not at all,” Ketch replies, staring at me with a look in his eyes like we didn’t just have sex against the crates of books. “Where did you throw my tie?”

            I roll my eyes, reaching down next to me and grabbing it off the floor. “Right here.”

            I run my fingers over the silky material, my eyebrows furrowing as I study the pattern. He seems to wear a different one every time I see him, but each one is just as beautiful and captivating.

            “What is it with you and my ties?”

            I smirk, looking up and finding him once again, so close to me our noses almost touch. He has a habit of doing that – coming so close without me knowing. But I don’t mind it.

            I shake my head, lifting the tie over his head and around his neck. “I’m not sure.” I tug him forward, catching him off guard, but his little stumble causes me to smirk.

            He raises an eyebrow, leaning his hand on the crate behind me. “Are you asking for round two, love?”

            I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, not now.” I quit teasing and attempt to tie his tie, trying to remember from when I had to tie Sam’s a couple times. Surprisingly, my memory doesn’t fail me here. “I think they’re probably wondering why we’re still in here.”

            “And what those noises were.”

            I gasp, smacking his chest. “Hush! I was quiet.”

            “Love, you were anything but.”

            I narrow my eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

            He chuckles. “I know I am.”

He cups my jaw, pressing a kiss to my lips. I inhale slowly, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him closer. I feel the fire trying to ignite again when he snakes his arms around my waist, his hands pressing into my back.

Closer. Why is he never close enough?

A squeeze to my hips has me opening up for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss – even though I said we shouldn’t.

And I’m right. We shouldn’t. I need to get back to the bunker.

But _damn_ , he is intoxicating.

“Mm, okay, okay,” I mutter, pulling back. He chases me down, growling as he moves to my neck.

And damn me if I don’t lean my head to the side, letting my eyes slip closed as he continues.

But he stops all too soon, causing a whine to spill from my lips. I look at him with furrowed brows, wondering what happened, but he’s smiling.

“You are quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

My cheeks immediately burn red, my eyes falling to the floor. You would think that I wouldn’t blush at something like that after what we just did, but I can’t help it.

A soothing touch on my cheek has my eyes returning to his, a quick kiss being pressed to my forehead. “There’s the eyes.”

“Okay,” I laugh, swatting his hand away. “We need to go before my cheeks actually catch fire.”

He chuckles, stepping back. “Right. I suppose I should be returning you to the bunker soon.”

“I suppose,” I tease. “Can we take the Norton?”

“You are just dying to be on that motorbike, aren’t you?”

I smirk. “I’ve never been on one.”

He sighs, straightening his jacket and buttoning it. The action alone should not be as hot as it is, but I have to use all of my willpower to tear them away from him.

“I suppose we can take it.”

I almost squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug. It’s obviously a gesture he isn’t used to because he stumbles again, but eventually gets the picture and wraps his arms around my waist.

 

* * *

 

 

Riding on a motorcycle is a lot different than I was expecting.

            It wasn’t a bad ride, despite the Norton not being made for passengers. That just meant I would be sitting closer to Ketch, my arms wrapped tighter around his waist.

            He did have to have a conversation with me before we left about me “behaving myself” on the ride.

            Apparently, wandering hands is a crime. I wasn’t aware of this before.

            But since I really didn’t want him to swerve and crash, potentially injuring us both, I keep my hands to myself.

            Mostly.

            He can’t expect me to keep my hands to myself when we’re sitting that close, that’s all I’m saying. He’s asking for the impossible.

            And when I tell him that, he pushes me up against the seat of the Norton, stepping between my legs.

            “It was a reasonable request,” he mutters, immediately attacking my neck.

            I thread my fingers through his hair, chuckling. “I don’t think you get what I’m saying.”

            He lifts his head to look me in my eyes, his look almost lethal. “I understand perfectly.”

            My eyes involuntarily move down to his tie. Before I can help myself, I wrap my hand around it, tugging him forward so our noses brush. “You are dangerous,” I clarify, pressing a kiss to his lips. “And it’s annoying as hell.”

            He hums, pulling me closer by the waist, his hands finding their place on my hips, underneath my shirt.

            I press my hand against his chest, pushing him back to break the kiss. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

            That was the other reason for taking the Norton. Mick informed him of the hunt that he was supposed to be briefed on but said he would text the rest of the information to his phone later.

            The Norton is Ketch’s “hunting” vehicle, or whatever. It made me roll my eyes, too.

            He shakes his head at me. “You have a bad habit of reminding me of reality.”

            I laugh. “Well it’s your job.” I pause when he kisses my forehead, an action so gentle and domestic that it still makes the butterflies in my stomach go wild whenever he does it. “You kind of have to do it.”

            “And if I didn’t, I’d take you somewhere else,” he sighs, his thumb brushing the skin underneath my eye. “When will your brothers be back?”

            I shrug. I haven’t checked my phone all day. I slip it out of my back pocket and check my text messages, finding one from Sam.

**> Sasquatch: Headed home.**

I sigh. He sent that an hour ago. “Tonight, apparently,” I say, clicking my phone off and tucking it back in my pocket. “You should get going.”

            He purses his lips. “Why is the right thing always the last thing I want to do with you?”

            I furrow my eyebrows, but dissolve into a laugh. He’s great company, I’ll give him that. But I think I am ready to be back in my bunker now. “Don’t get all poetic on me,” I tease.

            He shakes his head, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll go.”

            I move away from the bike, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch him grab his helmet off the seat. “Keep in touch, okay?”

            He looks at me strangely.

            “I mean it this time,” I chuckle. “You can call me if you need any information. I’m a walking library.”

            “I’ll remember that.” He pauses, stepping over onto the bike. He turns his head to give me a look, nodding his head. “I’ll keep in touch, love. Don’t worry.”

            I take a deep breath. “Okay. Be safe.” When he gives me another look, I roll my eyes. “I’m going inside.”

            He smiles softly. “See you soon, love.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off, starting to back away. “You’ve got a monster to kill. Go.”

            I turn around and start walking toward the bunker door, trying not to look back. I do steal one last glance at him, though, when I hear the Norton’s engine come to life.

            It’s a pretty sound. Not as pretty as Baby’s engine, but a close second.

            Okay, okay. I’m going inside.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is that your computer talkin’ to you again?”

            I hear my brothers when they walk into the library, now changed into t-shirts and shorts after being on that hunt. They said it was lengthy and exhausting, and Dean was upset he wasn’t able to stay at the bar as long as he wanted.

            “Uh…no. It’s uh—Mick Davies.”

            My ears immediately perk up at the mention of a British Men of Letters. Mick, nonetheless. Last I heard, they were being “rather cold” to them.

            Not taking phone calls from them.

            “What?” Dean beats me to it.

            “Dean—and Joy,” Sam pauses, catching me listening in, “I don’t have a computer program feeding me cases. I—Every job we’ve worked in the last two weeks, they’ve all come from the British Men of Letters.”

            My jaw falls open, not from shock – well, maybe some shock, I don’t—I don’t know how to process this.

            And it’s clear Dean doesn’t either. “Really?”

            Sam looks at me for a moment before focusing back on Dean. “Yeah, I didn’t tell you because I know how much you hate them—”

            “No, we hate them. The three of us,” Dean pauses, gesturing at me before turning back to Sam. “Together.”

            “I get that, I do, but Dean, because of Mick and his guys, the Alpha Vampire is dead—”

            I drop my book out of shock this time, the hardback thumping loudly when it hits the floor. Both of my brothers turn to look at me.

            I give them a look. “What the hell? When did that happen?”

            Both of them look guilty as hell. Dean answers me. “A while back. We’ll explain.”

            I cross my arms over my chest. “You better.” I lean down to grab my book off the floor, setting it on the table.

            Sam continues. “They get results. I don’t like them either, but if we can save people, then—” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Either way, I shouldn’t of lied to you guys. I’m sorry.”

            Despite what I’ve just heard, it doesn’t surprise me too much.

            What does surprise me is Dean’s answer. “Well, okay.”

            Sam’s eyes widen. “Okay?”

            Dean shakes his head. “What do you want me to say? Do I like it? No. Do I trust them? Hell no.”

            I sink down in my chair a little, Ketch still in the back of my mind. I feel stupid that I allowed Sam’s confession to even light an unconscious spark of hope in me. I know they don’t like them. Or Ketch – especially Ketch. I don’t see that ever changing.

            “But you’re right,” Dean finishes. “We work with people we don’t trust all the time. So if you wanna give this a shot then, fine.” He pauses, glancing back at me. He turns his body, gesturing between the three of us. “But the minute – and I mean the second something feels off, we bail.” He looks between Sam and I, raising his eyebrows. “Clear?”

            “Deal,” Sam nods.

            Dean looks at me.

            I shrug, picking up my book. “I don’t hunt. But deal. If I notice anything, I’ll let you know.”

            I take a deep breath when Dean turns back around upon hearing Sam’s phone begin buzzing once more.

            Sam pulls his phone out, staring at the screen for a moment before sighing. “It’s Mick.”

            Dean shakes his head, looking back at me in defeat. All I can offer is a shrug. I hear him sigh. “Pick it up.”


	8. i'm lonely and i miss you.

When Ketch said he would keep in touch, he meant it this time.

            I wasn’t expecting a text from him when he arrived at the hotel he’d be staying at for this hunt, but that’s exactly what I receive. When the text comes through, though, Sam is sitting right next to me at the table in the library. Thankfully, he’s entranced enough by whatever Lore he’s reading that I don’t have to worry about him looking over at my phone, but Dean – who is sat across from us – does make a comment about my phone being extra busy tonight.

            I brush him off with a laugh, not offering a verbal response. He’s busy on his laptop with God knows what, so he moves on from the subject rather quickly.

            This encounter does tell me that I should probably change Ketch’s contact name in my phone. Right now, it’s just that Ketch – which isn’t exactly good. Because if Sam happened to be nosy and look over, I would be dead meat.

**> Ketch: Just go into the hotel. Monster is about a mile from here. Is this a wrong time to ask you to sneak out?**

I try to hide my smile as I set my phone on my book, thinking of a reply.

**> Not a wrong time, but for the record, I haven’t driven anywhere since I’ve been back.**

His reply makes it really hard not to smile. That or it’s just him.

**> Ketch: That is one depressing piece of information.**

**> Apologies**

**> Ketch: I’ll just have to bring you with me next time.**

I chuckle softly, hiding my smile behind my hand.

**> I guess so**

**> Ketch: No mention of the brothers? I’m surprised.**

I furrow my eyebrows.

**> Well with Mick sending them new hunts every five seconds, I’m sure they’re going to be busy for a while**

**> Ketch: Ah, the tall one finally told you.**

They’re both tall. Taller than me. But okay.

**> You knew?**

**> Ketch: Of course I knew**

**> And you didn’t think I’d wanna know?**

I’m not mad, I’m more messing with him, but still. Even if he had told me, I wouldn’t have come home and went straight to Sam and asked him what the hell was up with him. I would’ve kept it quiet.

**> Ketch: In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t do a lot of talking when you’re around. You keep me quite busy.**

I snicker.

**> Fair. But back to what you said, yeah he finally told us**

**> Ketch: Dean wasn’t aware either, I presume?**

“What are you glaring at that book for?”

            I look up to find Dean looking at me, beer bottle pressed to his lips and eyebrows raised. I open my mouth to answer, but Sam speaks before I can.

            “It’s her phone, not a book.”

            I can hear the teasing look on his face before I see it. I discreetly click my phone off, turning my head to glare at Sam, but he’s grinning.

            “Oh, so it’s a boy.”

            “No, Dean—”

            “Oh, a girl. I don’t judge.”

            “Dean,” I breathe, giving him a look. “It’s no one.”

            He laughs. “You’re still shit at lying.”

            Sam laughs loudly, smacking his hand on the table. “You’ve been smiling for ten minutes now. We’re not idiots.”

            I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.

            “I told you that dating app is fun. Especially when you’re bored.”

            “Dean,” I say again, this time sliding my phone under my leg. “It’s no one.”

            “Well when No One tells you their name, let us know,” Sam quirks, settling back into his chair.

            Dean laughs loudly this time, leaning across the table to give Sam a high five. “That was a good one.”

            “Okay,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m going to bed.”

            “Aww, we’ll stop. Come on.”

            I give Dean a look as I stand, shaking out my knee. I tuck my book under my arm, sliding my phone into my back pocket before grabbing the brace off the table.

            “Goodnight guys.”

            “Night sis,” they say together.

            Then Dean, “Say hi to No One for me.”

            Sam joins in. “And me too!”

            Dean again. “Are you making breakfast?”

            “You’re both hilarious!” I call out over my shoulder as I step down into the hallway, turning left toward my room.

            Once I’m inside, I shut the door, tossing my brace on the bed. I place the book on my nightstand and grab my charger to plug my phone in. When I do, though, I see a missed text from Ketch.

**> Ketch: I do hope your silence is not out of anger with me.**

            I nearly roll my eyes.

**> No, sorry. Brothers teasing me about who I’m texting.**

**> Ketch: Oh, do tell how you got out of that one.**

I snicker, plopping down on my bed, leaning back against my pillows.

**> Well your name is now No One and I think Dean is convinced I met you through a dating app**

**> Ketch: A dating app. Interesting.**

Then, having a strange but brilliant idea, I change Ketch’s contact name in my phone to No One.

**> No One: I’m afraid I need to get some sleep. But you’re making it rather hard to accomplish that.**

**> I can’t say that I’m sorry.**

A second later, a picture comes through of well, one can guess of what.

            We handle it. With a phone call.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam and Dean aren’t at the bunker for long. It’s barely been twenty-four hours since they’ve been back home and they’re leaving again.

            “We’re supposed to be hunting a werewolf,” Dean explains, nearly rolling his eyes. “But we’ve gotta go to their home base or whatever first.”

            I chuckle. “You think it’s a load of bullshit, don’t you?”

            He looks to me, smiling. “Damn right I do.” He pauses to shake his head. “You should be glad you don’t have to deal with their prissy asses.”

            “Oh, I’m glad.” I say, settling into my chair and trying to derail the rest of the conversation.

            Don’t get me wrong, the whole Operation American Hunters as Ketch called it still doesn’t exactly rub me the right way. I still – even after the tour – don’t fully understand what they’re here to do. Because as far I know, or was told, Sam and Dean are doing just fine. And we were doing fine when I was alive – mostly. That’s a whole different story, though.

            “Ready?”

            I’m jolted out of my thoughts – and I find that I was staring at the same word in this book for the duration – by Sam coming into the library, duffle bag on his back.

            “Yeah,” Dean breathes, standing up from the edge of the table. He grabs his bag from the floor, tossing it on his back. He looks at me with a smirk. “Wish me luck.”

            I roll my eyes, standing from my chair. I turn and wrap my arms around them, bringing both of them into a hug. “Go kick ass. Be careful.” I smile when they both kiss my temple.

            “You could always come with,” Sam says, and this is the first time he’s said that without a single dose of teasing in his tone.

            I furrow my eyebrows, giving him a small smile.

            “You wouldn’t have to hunt,” Dean adds, gaining my attention immediately because the last thing I expect is for him to want me to go hunting again. “Just get out and stretch your legs.”

            I have. But you guys don’t know that. “Raincheck, okay?” I give them a reassuring smile. “One day.”

            “Okay,” Sam says, clearing his throat. He knows we’re venturing into the personal territory – the topic we haven’t spoken much about since I got back. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

            Dean nods. “See you in a couple days, kiddo.”

            I watch them walk out of the bunker and into the garage, the door closing loudly behind them.

            And for the first time since I have been back, this bunker feels incredibly lonely.

            I’m used to being lonely – or I say I am. I am used to the feeling, but I don’t like it. I felt it strong enough before I made that deal with Billie, and I really don’t appreciate the fact that the feeling is returning.

            I grab my phone, going to Ketch and I’s text message thread. The last time we texted was this morning. He said he was busy back at the compound today, so he wouldn’t be able to talk as much. I took that as him telling me to leave him alone for the day.

            Instead of sending a text, something in me gravitates toward a call. So I do. I call him.

            “Arthur Ketch speaking.”

            Oh, god. Now I have to think of something else to say other than _I’m lonely and I miss you_.

            I hear shuffling on his end. “Love? Is everything alright?”

            And that stupid question of his brings involuntary tears to my eyes. I chuckle, placing my head in my hands. “I miss you.”

            Somehow, those three words are all he needs to hear from me before he understands completely. “I’m on my way, love.”


	9. it's for us.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update because if you remember season 12, then you should know some bad things are about to start happening.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Ketch is here.

            I manage to haul myself up the bunker’s spiral stairs and out the main door on my own, but my knee is violently protesting by the time I make it outside. Thank goodness he notices right off the bat, because I feel like I’m about to collapse as soon as his arms wrap around my waist to hold me up.

            He helps me over to the Norton, sitting me down on the seat. I give him a shaky smile.

            “Thank you.”

            He furrows his eyebrows, his hands lingering on my waist. “Are you alright?”

            “You asked that already,” I murmur, smoothing my hands up the sleeves of his leather jacket. My eyes trail to his. “I need a hug.”

            He smirks, raising one eyebrow. “I figured when you called you needed an orgasm. Or four.”

            I roll my eyes. “You wish.” I only had one last time. He _wishes_ he could make me have four in one session. I pause, then shrugging. “Sometimes I just need a hug.”

            “Well, I can still oblige.” He pulls me up, keeping me steady enough so my weight is completely off my knees.

            I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. I breathe deeply, closing my eyes.

            It feels nice. Dare I say it: safe, even. There’s something different about being in his arms. Even though it is obvious he isn’t used to hugs, he seems to give the best ones.

            Or maybe I’m biased. I’m probably biased.

            “You know,” I say, pushing back from the hug, leaving my hands on his shoulders, close to his neck.

            “Enlighten me,” he muses, pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

            I smile when I feel his arm smooth themselves under my shirt, teasing my ribs, but not in a mischievous way. It’s soothing.

            “I like the leather,” I begin, letting my eyes rake over his jacket. “But there’s no tie.”

            He laughs then, his small little chuckle that appears to be as much as he’ll let himself do. “Well, there’s no reason for a tie while I hunt.”

            I tilt my head, earning another kiss on my lips, strong enough that I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He squeezes my hips, knowing that’s exactly how to get me to open up for him, that little gasp spilling from my lips that always prompts a breathy groan from him as he deepens our kiss.

            He steps between my legs further, enough that I can feel him. That alone is enough to make my legs forget how to work.

            “I want to show you something,” he finally says, but his voice is only a whisper.

            I can feel his lips ghosting against mine when I reply. “What is it?”

            It takes him a moment to answer because he’s too busy making my knees weaker than they already are.

            He still doesn’t answer me, though.

            “You better not be taking me to some extravagant waterfall,” I tease, lifting my good leg over the motorcycle, lowering myself onto the seat.

            He gives me a look. “One day I will, just because you tease.”

            I can’t help but smile at him, thinking about it seriously for a moment. “I’d like that, actually.”

            “Well,” he steps over the bike, sitting in front of me. My hands instinctively smooth themselves around his torso, snickering at the way his muscles flex beneath my fingers. “Where we’re going isn’t a waterfall, so I hope it won’t be a disappointment.”

            I lean my forehead against his back. I don’t want to blurt it out because it feels awkward even thinking this. I’ve only been out with him twice now, had drinks twice as well. But somehow, I’m sure that wherever we go won’t be disappointing. Not when I’m going with him.

 

* * *

 

 

I’d like to think I know him pretty well, you know. There’s obviously much more to him than he’s telling me – which is fair, there’s a lot more to me than I’m telling him right now – but as for the surface, I like to think I know that part of him.

            Until he pulls up outside a motel— Correction: it’s a hotel, but it looks far fancier than anything my brothers and I have stayed in. Or that I stayed in when I ran.

            Regardless, I feel like I have no business walking in there, let alone parking in this parking lot.

            “You look shocked, love.”

            I look up to find Ketch standing next to me, holding his hand out.

            I take his hand, trying to rid my expression of the sheer shock it had on a few seconds earlier. I’m more shocked to find he laces my fingers with his, but I don’t complain.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hotel this big.” It looks like it belongs in a city.

            He chuckles again, his soft laugh that makes the butterflies in my stomach riot.

            “Why are we here?” I ask, looking back at him and tugging on his hand a little to get an answer.

            He removes his hand from mine, only so he can wrap his arm around my waist to help me walk. “You’ll see,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “But first we need to check in.”

            “Check in?”

            He guides me through the sliding glass doors and into the hotel’s lobby, which again looks far fancier than I feel I deserve. I’m in a flannel and jeans for Christ’s sake. Combat boots, too. Not nearly fancy enough attire for this place.

            But then I’m reminding that Ketch is just about the same thing, only except he has a leather jacket on.

            “Arthur Ketch,” he says to the woman at the desk, not waiting for a greeting or anything.

            She searches on the computer for a moment before looking back up. “Alright, you are in the queen suite, top floor.”

            “Top floor?” I blurt without even thinking.

            She disappears from the counter to grab keycards, passing them to Ketch when she returns. “You’re all set. Enjoy your stay.”

            I wait until we’re at the elevator before I ask again. “Top floor?” And then a follow up question when he presses the button to call the elevator down to us. “Queen suite?”

            “You ask an awful lot of questions.”

            The doors open, an empty elevator greeting us. We step inside, Ketch’s arm still around my waist. He presses the top floor – ten. There’s ten floors.

            “What are we doing here?”

            He chuckles again, tugging me into his side with his arm around my waist. I rest my hand on his, turning my head to look at him in hopes he’ll answer me. But all he does is cup my jaw, pulling me in for a kiss.

            The elevator doors open, interrupting us, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He guides me down the hallway, to our door. He slides the key card, pushing the door open, allowing me to walk in first.

            There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a television in front of it. I can see a small kitchen area to the right, a bathroom to the left, and a vast window directly across from where I stand in front of the door.

            “Ketch…” I trail away, looking around still in awe.

            I hear the door close quietly behind me before he presses himself against my back, wrapping his arms around my waist. I place my hands over his, leaning my head back against his chest.

            “What is this?”

            “It’s for us,” he replies, voice quiet but confident. “For whenever we want. For whenever you want to get out of that bunker.”

            I turn around in his arms, wincing when my knee catches as I turn. He holds me up. As always.

            “Why?”

            He presses a firm kiss to my lips, his hand moving to cup my jaw. “Because I wanted to,” he pauses, kissing me again. “That’s why.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t deserve this. At all. “You’re…” I shake my head. “Thank you.”

            “The pleasure is mine, love.”


	10. i'm only telling you what i see.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketch provides Joy with a piece of truth that she has been pushing down for a while.

_wrapped in your arms/i swear i'd die for your love_

 

I wake to Ketch trying to discreetly get out of bed, obviously failing because he jostles the bed so much that it wakes me up. The clock reads  **3:04 A.M.** when I roll over to grab his wrist, tugging gently in my still-asleep state.

He gives in, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips that has me almost falling into a deep, entranced sleep right in that moment. But I open my eyes, running my fingers through his hair.

“What’re you doing up?” I whisper.

He lays down on his side, propping his head up with his elbow. He looks so utterly domestic like this. Like he’s not some highly skilled hunter and I’m not some girl who came back from the dead a few months ago. Like we’re just a couple on vacation. Like we’re just a normal couple.

“I have a hunt to take care of in a few hours,” he replies, his voice just as quiet as mine. His hand reaches over to cup my cheek, his thumb soothing the skin underneath my eye. “I was trying to be quiet. I wanted you to rest.”

“Okay,” I smile. “Be careful.”

He smirks. “I’m only going to shower right now, love, but I will be careful later.”

The thought of a hot shower immediately has me starting to wake up a little more. “Can I come with?” And when I see the weird look he gives me, I add, “To shower.”

“Love,” he breathes, “you know if you shower with me, the last thing we will be doing is getting clean.”

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my lips. “And you don’t care, do you?”

He studies my face for a moment, and for a second it does look like he’s going to tell me no and that I need to stay in bed. But he doesn’t. He’s wrapped around my finger just as much as I’m wrapped around his, and he knows it.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s awful bold of you to say considering I had to punish you just a few hours ago.”

I can’t help the small laugh that grows in my chest. “That was fun.”

“You’re about to fall asleep, aren’t you?”

I hate that he’s right. But his fingers have been running through my hair for five minutes now and I’m honestly so exhausted.

I nod, humming lowly. I close my eyes, my hand blindly reaching out for his. He grabs it, pressing a kiss to the back of it. A small smile spreads across my lips.

“I’ll be back. Get some rest.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ketch and I stay in this suite for the next three days.

            He takes me out to eat, and teases about finding a waterfall to explore somewhere. We settle on a bookstore instead, which I can tell makes him uncomfortable for a minute. He isn’t used to any of this romantic stuff, which I understand, but he sure does know how to act like he does.

            We sit on the same side of the booth, his arm wrapped around my waist protectively, even as we eat. When I browse the bookstore, he’s right next to me, his arm around my waist – or his fingers laced with mine when I want to wander more.

            Eventually we find ourselves back in the suite, knocking over things we go because we can’t keep our hands off one another. But my phone stops us.

            Normally, I will toss my phone aside. But this time it’s not Sam giving me a mindless update.

            It’s Eileen. And she’s called three times.

            “Shit, wait.” I shove Ketch back, my phone in my hand—my hands are shaking. Why has she called me? She never calls, I mean we do sometimes, but not repeatedly like this, I—

            “Love, you should know better than to—”

            “Shut up!” I hiss, opening up Eileen’s text conversation.

**> Hey! Sorry I missed your calls. Everything alright?**

Ketch moves closer to look, my sudden outburst probably scaring him. “What is it?”

            “It’s Eileen,” I murmur, staring at my phone. “She called me three times, but—” I’m cut off by my phone ringing. But it’s not Eileen.

            It’s Dean.

            “Shit,” I pause, waving a Ketch to stay over there. I move by the window, accepting the call. “Hello?”

            “Hello? Hello! Where the fuck are you?”

            I glance at Ketch, turning around to stare out the window. “I’m out. How’s the hunt?”

            “You’re out? Since when the hell do you go out?”

            “Dean, I’m okay.”

            “Well, that’s great. You’re okay. She’s okay.” He must be talking to Sam. “We’re gonna talk when we get back to the bunker.”

            I roll my eyes. “Okay.”

            He ends the call.

            Awesome. Just awesome.

            I turn to Ketch. “Get your keys. Dean’s pissed. I gotta go back to the bunker.”

            He furrows his eyebrows, grabbing his keys off the counter next to him. “Why?”

            I glance down at my phone.

**> Eileen: Sam told me you’re okay. I’m at the bunker. Come back, please?**

“Eileen’s at the bunker and freaked out when I wasn’t there. Now Dean’s pissed because I went out and didn’t tell him.”

            Ketch waits until we’re in the car to continue his questions. Which sucks, because I’m not in the mood for talking. I need to figure out how to get myself out of this. And the bad thing is, I don’t know how.

            “What are you going to tell them?”

            I shrug. “Same thing, I guess. I was out.”

            “Remind me again why this has to be a secret.”

            I look at him incredulously. “Because in case you forgot, I’m not supposed to know you. And your cult isn’t supposed to know me. And, on top of that, my brothers don’t like you.”

            “You value their opinion greatly.”

            I take a deep breath. “Ketch, I am really not in the mood right now.”

            He chuckles. “I’m only telling you what I see.” He pauses, continuing when I don’t even give him a second glance. “You worry so much about their opinion, your reputation. When none of it matters.” He pauses again, and I can feel him looking at me, but I don’t return his gaze. “I just wonder when you’re going to start doing things on your own accord.”

            I finally look at him, then. My eyebrows furrowing as his words sink into my skin. He has a valid point and I hate him for it.

            I hate him because it’s the truth. I always worry so much about what my brother’s will think. What they will say. I never worry about myself all that much, about what I think. Or I do a little, with Ketch I do. I know I care for him. But there’s still the wall my brothers’ opinions.

            I lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” I say. “I needed to hear that.”

            He gives me a small smile, nodding.

            I tell him to pull up outside the bunker, thinking Eileen will be inside, but exactly with my luck, she’s standing at the door, looking around.

            Her eyes go wide upon seeing Ketch’s Bentley. I’m not sure she knows who the British Men of Letters really are, but I know she probably didn’t expect me to be arriving in a Bentley.

            “I’ll call you later,” I promise Ketch, getting out of the car. I shut the door behind me, waving at him to drive away. And just get the hell out of here.

            Thankfully, he understands. And is gone before I have to ask twice.

            Before I can even get close to Eileen, the questions begin.

            “Who is he?” She signs furiously. “Where were you? I called three times, but you never answered, so I called Sam. He said he thought you were here, but I told him I checked every room twice.”

            “I’m okay,” I sign back. “He was No One and I was nowhere. I’m fine.”

            She sighs. “Joy…please tell me.”

            I take a deep breath. I can’t leave her in the dark like this. I have to tell her something. “He’s my boyfriend,” I finally reply. “Sam and Dean don’t know about him, so please keep it a secret?”

            She mimics a zipper on her lips before signing, “I won’t tell anyone.”

            I chuckle. “Thank you.”

            Eileen and I continue talking in the bunker, waiting for my brothers to arrive. I’m dreading it, just because I know Dean is going to want to know every single detail. And of course, he’ll be pissed off about it.

            And I’m right.

            Halfway through our beer, Eileen and I hear the angry and loud footsteps from a certain Dean Winchester coming down the stairs. Eileen gives me a sympathetic look and reassuring smile.

            I take a deep breath.

            “Are you going to explain yourself or are you just going to sit there?”

            I take a sip of my beer, looking to Sam to gauge his reaction, but he looks just as pissed. I turn back to Dean. “Are you going to be pissed off or are you going to be mature about this?”

            He crosses his arms over his chest.

            I sigh. “I went out,” I tell him, glancing at Sam so he knows this apology is for both of them. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

            Sam’s face softens after that. An apology is usually enough for him. But Dean is a different story.

            So, I focus more on Dean. “Dean, I’m sorry. I had told you I didn’t wanna go on the hunt with you. I didn’t want you to get mad about me going out because I had told you I didn’t want to.”

            “Who did you go with?”

            I answer without thinking. “No one.”

            Dean raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous grin trying to settle over his lips. “No one?”

            I smack my forehead with my hand. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

            “Well, little sis,” he laughs, smacking my shoulder. “Obviously you should let us know when you’re going out again, but I’m happy for you.” He winks, which only makes me groan.

            “Okay, new subject.”

            Eileen speaks up. “I have a lead on Dagon. A real lead.”

            “Really?” Sam immediately moves closer to her. “What d’you got?”

            “A phone number,” Eileen smiles proudly, producing a piece of paper from her pocket.

            Sam raises his eyebrows. “I can trace it.”

            For the next fifteen minutes, I listen to them talk about a new plan for defeating Dagon and getting Kelly. Eileen and I share a few knowing looks, and I make sure to thank her before she leaves.

            She tells me that whoever I’m seeing better be treating me well. And that she can kiss his ass if she needs to.

            I tell her I’ll handle that. But the offer is nice to have.

 

 


	11. of course, we knew.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler. There will be more Mick and Joy in the next one. They have an...interesting relationship.

Eileen spends the night, which means she and I stay up in the library until who knows what hour, just talking.

            She still has the biggest of crushes on Sam. I tell her to maybe start hinting at it a little to see if he’ll get the picture, but she said she’s tried. I even offer to spill the beans to Sam myself, but she laughs and shoves me away, telling me, “Don’t you _dare_.” I tell her I won’t.

            But boy, would I love to. These two are making me sick.

            She asks me a little more about my boyfriend – which it takes me a moment to realize who she is talking about. Ketch and I haven’t talked about our relationship status, per say. I know we’re exclusive, I guess, but we haven’t put a label to it.

            I decide to tell her that and ask for some advice as to what to do about it. Not that I can exactly talk about something like this with Ketch. He probably doesn’t care and we’re not a normal couple, if it wasn’t noticeable already.

            I just…want to talk about boys for a moment. I never got to do this before. Claire was never one to want to talk about anything other than hunting, and Jody was always busy worrying about Claire. I was never close with Alex. I never saw the three of them all that much, really. Minus the three-year period when I stayed with them, but that wasn’t anything special.

            I miss them. Yes, even Claire and Alex. Despite me not being close to them, I still miss having someone around my age. I still have them beat by three years – I think – but that’s close enough.

            I tell Eileen how I have to have my boyfriend’s name in my phone as No One because of Dean. Not that I’m worried of him snooping, but more because if I happen to leave my phone somewhere and a text comes through, then he might see it. I tell her I hope it’ll make him laugh, if he ever does see it.

            She presses for his real name, of course, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. Again, I’m not sure she totally knows who the British Men of Letters are, but I can’t risk letting his name slip and her knowing exactly who he is.

            I don’t think she would tell Sam or Dean, but if she’s like them and doesn’t like the British Men of Letters, she might tell.

            I wish I didn’t have to do this. The more I talk to her about him the more I wish I could bring him here, show him off to Sam and Dean, have them approve of him, take him out to dinner with my brothers, have them tease him endlessly about how he’s treating me.

            But I won’t. That’s just…not our relationship, I guess.

            Eileen retires to bed around two in the morning. I tell her I’ll be right behind her.

            But I decide to stay in the library for a bit. I grab my book and go sit by the globe, in the corner by the lamp. It’s my favorite place to read, probably why I have so much of my stuff sitting over here.

            I fish my phone out of my back pocket, having a weird feeling that I need to check it. And sure enough, there’s a text from Ketch.

**> No One: You never called, love. **

I almost roll my eyes.

**> Apologies. Eileen and I got carried away talking.**

His response is almost immediate, despite his first text being sent half an hour ago.

**> No One: Eileen?**

I’m surprised he hasn’t called me yet.

**> A friend. We talked about girl stuff**

**> No One: Ah, I see.**

There he goes. With his ego.

**> Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?**

**> No One: As a matter of fact, I am.**

Oh. Half of me wanted him to say he wasn’t at all for a while. I know Sam and Dean will probably be gone soon to figure out the Dagon and Kelly problem, but it doesn’t matter if Ketch is hunting.

I don’t know how to reply to him…so I don’t.

 

* * *

 

 

Eileen heads out the next day to scope out where Sam traced Kelly’s – or Dagon’s, we aren’t sure yet – phone to. She said she’d be back tomorrow morning.

            “What d’you want to eat, kiddo?” Dean asks, tapping the table in front of me.

            I look up from my book – this time I’m reading specifically about Nephilims. I haven’t been because I’ve been putting it off, and because everything I seemed to read gave me zero for answers on how to solve this damn issue. But since we’re close again to getting Kelly back, I decided to start reading again.

            I still got nothing, in case you were wondering.

            I shrug in response to Dean’s question. “Just whatever.”

            He groans. “We had that last night.”

            I give him a tired look, trying not to smile. “Chicken, Dean. Let’s have chicken.”

            He smirks. “You got it. Sure you don’t want to come with?”

            Sam stops at the edge of the table, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

            I sigh. “Yeah, why not. Let’s go.”

            I haven’t ridden in Baby in so long. Sam is nice enough to let me have shotgun, and Dean, surprisingly, let’s me control the music. It’s still Classic Rock, but I play my favorites.

            It feels…amazing. I can’t tell you when the last time was that I sang at the top of my lungs with them in this car, but I know it has been a while. I missed this. And them, oddly enough. You would think I wouldn’t because when they’re home from a hunt they’re…home. Right under me. Curious about what I read and how I’m doing or sitting right next to me doing their own thing while still keeping an eye on me. But I miss moments like these.

            These moments were more frequent before I died—or made that deal with Billie. I’m wishing now that I had appreciated them more back then. That I wouldn’t have overlooked them and assumed my life was the worst thing on the planet, because it wasn’t. I see that now.

            But, my life now is also pretty awesome. I’m back with my brothers. I have a real best friend, Eileen. I’m…with someone.

            It still feels weird thinking of Ketch as a boyfriend, but I guess, in technical terms, that’s what he is.

            I need to stop thinking about this.

            “Hey,” Sam taps my shoulder, prompting me to turn around. “What else did you find out about Nephilims?”

            I sigh, shaking my head. “Nothing really, that we didn’t know already, at least. Apparently, they will eventually become more powerful than their angel parent, so…” I trail off, Sam already knowing where I’m leading with that.

            “Great,” he breathes, rubbing a tired hand down his face.

            “So this thing is going to end up stronger than Lucifer?” Dean joins in, smacking his hand on the steering wheel. “That’s exactly what we need.”

            I chuckle darkly. “Right.”

            We eat on the way home, halfway humming along to the radio and occasionally sharing bits of Nephilim information that Sam and I have picked up from the Lore. But all of it is stuff we’ve talked about. We say it again, hoping some new door will open and we’ll have some magic revelation.

            But we don’t.

            “Okay,” Sam clears his throat. “Hear me out.”

            Dean and I share a look.

            “Maybe we need to call Crowley.”

            “What?” Dean says immediately, pulling into the garage. “You’re kidding.”

            “No, why would I—” Sam sighs, looking to me for help.

            I raise my eyebrows. “Why Crowley? Last I remember he wasn’t exactly a best friend.”

            “No, he’s not, but…”

            We grab the bags, heading up the stairs to the main door. We’re going down the spiral stairs before Sam tries again.

            “Just saying, even with Cas and every Hunter we know working this, we still got basically nothing.” Cas…I miss him. I haven’t seen him in forever.

            “Because, Sam,” I pause at the bottom stair behind them, half to rest and half because I want him to really hear me, “there is nothing. It’s…You’ve read the same Lore there’s barely anything.”

            “I know,” he breathes, “but at least, you know, maybe Crowley—”

            “No, dude, we’re not calling Crowley,” Dean finally says. “Okay? End of story.”

            While they continue to argue, I see movement in the library. It’s probably my eyes, and I let myself believe that, until I see it again.

            “Dean,” I whisper, stepping down to the main floor. I make sure to stay partially hidden behind the wall. I grab Sam’s jacket, tugging gently. “Sam—”

            “’Ello, boys. Do come and have a drink.”

            My breath hitches. Mick? What the hell is he doing here?

            Dean steps forward first, his hand raised slightly behind him. I know that signal. He wants me to get down the hallway.

            And I almost make it there. Until Mick decides to be a dumbass.

            “And Joy, too. I can still see you.”

            I close my eyes. “Shit.”

            “How do you know who she is?” Dean snaps, his voice raising.

He’s angry already, but if he knew the truth, I know that anger would be directed at me.

            “I called him,” I speak before Mick can, giving Mick a look that just screams _you better follow this story or so help me God_. “When you guys were in Site 94. I didn’t know what to do, Cas and I were running out of options. I found his number and…gave him a call.” I pause, looking between my brother’s shocked faces. “Okay, for one, you’re welcome. If I hadn’t called him, we never would’ve found you. And for two, I didn’t even tell him it was me.” I pause, twisting the story. “He already knew.”

            Dean takes a deep breath. “We’ll deal with this later.”

            “Fine,” Sam agrees, then turning to Mick. “What are you doing breaking into our house?”

            “ _Our_ house,” Mick reiterates, “Men of Letters. Did you know your key opens every chapter house in the world?”

Sam and Dean don’t say a word. I furrow my eyebrows. It’s not like them to play the silent game.

Mick spreads his hands. “Well you did say you’d give me a second chance.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean we wanna hang out,” Dean replies.

I nearly roll my eyes. This is going to be a painful conversation.

I take my chair by the lamp, pulling my legs under me while I listen.

“You here for a reason?” Sam asks.

“I am,” Mick sets his glass down on the table, straightening in his seat. His eyes catch mine for just a moment before settling back on my brothers. “And it’s a bit urgent. Some time ago, the home office recorded some sort of cosmic shock wave.”

I smack my forehead with my hand.

Mick startles at my action but continues. “Very rare. And after a few months of—”

“Nephilim.”

I look at Sam, eyes wide. “Really? You’re just going to drop the bomb like that?”

Mick looks at me in surprise before looking back to Sam. “You knew?”

“Of course, we knew,” I reply, letting my legs down. I grimace as a shock of pain shoots through my knee, but I cover it well. “You think we wouldn’t hear about something like that?”

Mick shakes his head. “How?”

“Sort of a long story,” Sam answers, moving around to sit on the edge of the table in front of Mick.

“Well, I’ve got time.”

Dean, his bluntness ever-present, decides to continue. “Well, Lucifer jacked the President…and then knocked up his girlfriend.”

“Now, she is on the run with Dagon.”

“Who is a Prince of Hell,” I finish. “One of the few ones left.”

Mick rubs his forehead tiredly. “I see. And you didn’t tell me this because…”

Dean hands me a glass of whiskey, giving Sam the other. “‘Cause it’s kind of a need-to-know kind of thing.” He smirks, sitting down next to Sam.

“The Devil is having a…” Mick stands from his chair, clearly border lining hysterics. I try not to laugh. “…child. It seems like something we’d need to know.” And now he’s pacing. He is the nervous type, I’m guessing. “Where is this woman now?” Definitely the nervous type.

“Not sure,” Sam answers. “We had her. Tried to help her, but, she, uh—”

“We lost her,” I finally say. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Kelly wanted to fight this on her own. I know what that’s like. It’s not anyone’s fault.

“I’m sorry. You—you had her? And you let her live?”

I furrow my eyebrows. That is definitely not a sentence I expected to come out of his mouth. “It’s not Kelly’s fault,” I speak up, which earns me looks of approval from my brothers and a look of bewilderment from Mick. I shake my head. “It’s not anyone’s fault, alright? She didn’t know Lucifer was her boyfriend—or, possessing her boyfriend.”

“Oh, sure, yeah. It could happen to anyone.”

Mick dismissal sparks anger inside me that I wasn’t aware I still had. Over something I didn’t think was still bothering me, but—

“Plus, she’d agreed to end the pregnancy. And I guess she changed her mind. Even with everything Kelly knew, it…it was still her kid. She couldn’t.”

“Then you should have!” Mick exclaims. “You should’ve shot her between the eyes. Immediately.”

“Oh, because you could have?” I scoff, shaking my head. He doesn’t understand this. Any of this.

“Kind of like you killed that werewolf.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “‘Cause from what I remember, that really messed you up.”

I shake my head again as I down the rest of the whiskey in my glass. I knew Mick wasn’t a Hunter. He doesn’t have it in him.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so big on second chances and all.”

“Yeah—yes. I’m not saying it was gonna be easy.” Mick glances down at the floor. “But the Code demands it.”

Code?

“Oh,” The sarcasm is as evident in Dean’s smirk as it is in his words. “ _The Code_.”

That only proves to piss Mick off even more, though. “This is not some werewolf. Do—do you have any idea what will happen if this abomination is born?”

“Mick…” Sam stands, leaving his glass on the table. “We’re handling it, alright? We’ll find her.”

“So until then…” Dean grins. “I say we drink.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, standing from my chair. “Go ahead. I’m gonna…go to bed. Or, go read in my room.” And call Ketch. I’ve got a bone to pick with him for not telling me Mick was randomly stopping by the bunker. Seriously, sometimes I swear he wants my brothers to find out and murder him.

“Everything alright with her?” I hear Mick ask before I’m even out of earshot.

I wait for my brothers to answer. Sam does. “Yeah. She’s fine.”


	12. and i am only telling you the truth.

“You better pick up you son of a—”

            “Arthur Ketch speaking.”

            “What the hell is wrong with you?”

            “Well, hello to you too, love.”

            “Shut up,” I hiss. “Now is not the time. Why didn’t you tell me Mick was stopping by?”

            “Mick is at your bunker?”

            “Yes, Mick is at the fucking bunker right now and now it’s out to Sam and Dean that he knows who I am and— Are you trying to get my brothers to murder you? Because at this point, I really think—”

            “Love, if I may interject—”

            I sit down on my bed. “You may.”

            “I was not aware Mr. Davies was paying a visit to your bunker.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. “I thought you were—I figured it would all be connected. Like, you would know what everyone does.”

            “And I do,” he replies. “But I am finishing up a hunt. Dr. Hess must have sent Davies on that trip last minute, or he went on his own accord.” He pauses to sigh. “He seems to think your brothers must be on board before this operation can advance.”

            I shake my head. “And it’s stupid – of him to think that. Because they don’t want to. And he can’t force them.”

            “Yes, well, if at any time you feel so inclined, please let Mr. Davies know. I’m quite tired of trying to persuade your brothers.”

            I chuckle. “I know you are.” I pause, laying back on my bed. “So how was the hunt?”

            “Splendid. Killed a clan of seven shape-shifters.”

            “Ah, shifters,” I crack a small smile. “Nasty bastards. I hated hunting those things.” He hums. “I remember when we ran into one pretending to be Dean. Some crazy shit.”

            I pause when I hear a knock on my bedroom door.

            “They are not my favorite either.”

            “Hang on a sec.” I pull the door open, startling when I see Mick standing there. I furrow my eyebrows. “What d’you…?”

            “Can I talk to you?”

            “Uh…” I pause. “Ketch, I’ll…call you back.”

            “Love—”

            I end the call, stuffing my phone in my back pocket. I know he was going to protest, so the best thing to do is cut him off before he can. “Sure,” I tell Mick, gesturing for him to come in. “What’s up?”

            “So you and Ketch.”

            I nearly slam the door from shock. Not the words I expected to come from his mouth, but he has been drinking. I guess I should expect a little bit of surprises. “Would you keep your voice down?”

            Realization crosses his eyes. “Oh, your brothers are asleep.”

            I study his face. “Are you drunk?”

            He almost laughs. “Oh, barely. I’ve got a bit of a buzz, but it’s your brothers you should worry about.”

            I nod. “Okay…” I look around, waiting for him to say something else. “So what about me and Ketch?”

            “You seem quite friendly.”

            I scoff. Of course. “Listen, if you just came here to talk about that then, I—”

            “You’re right,” he nods. “That was unprofessional of me. I apologize.”

            “Just— What do you want?”

            “The Old— I want your brothers on board.”

            I laugh loudly. “Right.”

            He gives me a strange look.

            “Mick, listen,” I pause, trying to offer a small smile. “My brothers are not very fond of you guys. Not your fault, kinda, but Toni sort of ruined things. And…there’s nothing that I can do. Or you can do. They don’t want to be part of it. That’s not who they are.”

            “You seemed to have warmed up to us.”

            I can feel my cheeks heating up. “I think my circumstances are special,” I point out. And then, taking a larger step for myself than I have in a long time, “And I said that’s how they feel. Not me.”

            He raises his eyebrows, a look of understanding crossing over his features. “So you feel differently toward us?”

            I cross my arms over my chest. It’s becoming clear to me that I have to choose my words carefully around him. He can take anything and use it as leverage, a new way to persuade me. I don’t want that. But at the same time—

            “I think your intentions are good,” I breathe, nodding. “But I think your execution can use some work.”

            “How?”

            I forget he’s the head of this whole operation here, so naturally he’s going to want me to explain this to him.

            “Well,” I lick my lips, “for starters, stop trying to make them report to you all the time. We know too much and receive too much information on a daily to even bother thinking about passing it on to some—to you guys, okay? And just the…the control, it—” I’m not making any sense, and I can tell by the look on his face, so I choose a different route. “My brothers have done this for a very long time. Their whole lives, they have hunted this way. Don’t expect them to change just because you want them to or you think your master plan is so grand that they’d be idiots to refuse. They’ve had people come along like you before. And they denied them. They have a routine. And they don’t want a bunch of Brits coming in and screwing it up.”

            “I see…” He sighs. “Well I suppose I should be getting to bed.”

            “Yeah,” I nod, stepping away from the door. I pull it open, holding it for him.

            “Joy?”

            I raise my eyebrows. I’m so tired. “Yeah?”

            “Be careful…around Arthur Ketch. He’s our killer, you know. The guy we call because he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.”

            I nod slowly. “Last I heard, you’re a killer too,” I pause, “but it’s fine, Mick. I am too. Or was.” I shake my head. “I can handle Ketch. Him handling me…” I trail away, trying not to crack a smile.

            “I understand,” Mick chuckles. “Goodnight, Joy.”

            “Yeah. Night.”

            I shut the door behind Mick, flicking the lock before throwing myself down on my bed. No sooner than I lay down, Ketch is already calling.

            I pick up with a smile. “Hello again.”

            “What did Mr. Davies want?”

            I chuckle. “Jealous much?”

            Ketch hums in discontent. I nearly roll my eyes.

            “He wants them on board still. Asked for my advice.”

            “And what did you say?”

            I furrow my eyebrows, moving to sit up against my pillows. “Just that…I can’t change their minds. And neither can he. They don’t want to work for you guys and…”

            “And?”

            “And,” I sigh, “that that’s how they feel. Not me.”

            It takes him a moment to respond. “Love, if I am hearing you correct I would believe—”

            “I don’t know what I’m…meaning by that. I just know I don’t resent you guys as much as they do.”

            “So you would be willing…?”

            I chuckle. Give him an inch and he takes a mile. “Let me think about it. We can talk about it later.”

            “Tomorrow?”

            “You’re finished with the hunt? That was it? Just seven shifters?”

            He lets out a breathy laugh. “I gather you’re not impressed.”

            “No,” I breathe, smiling. “Not what I meant.”

            “Well, to answer your questions, yes. That was it. And I am reporting back to the compound tomorrow. I can—”

            “It’ll depend on what my brothers are doing,” I pause, glancing at my closed bedroom door. “And how long Mick stays.” Though I don’t expect him to stay long past morning. He probably has stuff to deal with at the compound.

            “So that’s a yes.”

            “Ketch…” I sigh, shaking my head. Damn him for knowing what my subconscious means before I consciously know. “I guess it is.” I pause. “What will I even do? I can’t hunt. Isn’t that what you wanted us for?”

            “You don’t have to hunt,” he reminds me. “You have the largest understanding and knowledge of Lore I have ever seen in my life.” I try my hardest not to smile. “The amount of…skill and information you can bring to the briefing and planning, well, that surpasses your injuries.”

            I take a deep breath, trying to suppress the grin that is crawling onto my face. “What’s up with you always knowing what I need to hear?”

            “It’s a talent of mine, love,” he pauses, adding on, “and I am only telling you the truth.”

            It’s word vomit, I know, so I don’t say this out loud, but all I can think is how much I miss him. And how much I wish I would have went on the hunt with him.


	13. it's a problem, truly.

_so please, could i be selfish with your body? ‘cause i don’t think i could share you with nobody._

“All right, well. To be blunt: we have no idea what we are dealing with here,” Serena confesses.

“Okay, well,” I pull the chair out and sit down, crossing one leg over the other. “What d’ya got so far?”

Mick nods to Serena who points her remote at the screen at the front of the room, pictures appearing.

It doesn’t take an idiot to know exactly what we’re dealing with. I can tell just from one single look. But as I glance at the others in this room, I realize they’re all confused. Even Ketch.

I try to hide my smirk, settling back in my chair. Let’s have some fun.

I raise my eyebrows. “All I’m seeing is tattoos.”

“That’s all we see as well,” Serena sighs. “There’s been five victims in the last month, each drained of their blood. They were found hanging by their wrists.”

“We thought we were dealing with a Djinn,” Mick begins, sparking some hope in me, “but the sixth victim, a teenage girl, said her hallucination was not…”

“Paradise on Earth, if you will,” Ketch finishes. “She described it as a nightmare. ‘Living Hell,’ I believe she said.”

A heavy sigh leaves my lips, my hand pinching the bridge of my nose. All the fun is gone now. Never mind. “Awesome.”

“What?”

I lift my head, giving Ketch a reassuring look before returning to Mick and Serena. “Okay, well, for starters, I knew we were dealing with a Djinn just by the looks of that first picture.”

Serena raises an eyebrow. “The tattoos?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “And the eyes. I’ve seen ‘em in person. But now I see why you didn’t think it was a typical Djinn.”

Mick leans onto the table. “You’re saying I was right? This is a Djinn?”

“Yeah, it is. It’s…a different species, though. That picture there was probably taken before they changed.”

“Changed?”

“Yeah, they um…they’re not shape shifters, but they can blend in. Sam and Dean ran into one of these a few years ago. They’re nasty fuckers.”

“Pardon?”

I ignore Mick’s blatant shock at my language and turn to Serena. “Do the victims happen to have uh…liquified or jellied insides?”

She gives me a strange look. “Yes.”

“Okay. And,” I take a deep breath, “did they have a blue handprint on them? Anywhere, like a branding?”

“Yes.”

“Bingo,” I nod, turning back to Mick. “You’ve got a Djinn.”

“Can these be killed in the same way?” Alton speaks for the first time, weapons very clearly being his thing.

“You mean silver and lamb’s blood?” He nods. I shrug. “Yeah, I mean, unless you’ve got some toy that works better, a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood is it. Or you can,” I pause to chuckle, remembering how Dean handled it, “you can always bash their head in.”

“You said you’ve seen one,” Serena inquires, and I can tell it is mostly from the curiosity.

So I decide to elaborate. “Yeah. I was sixteen. It…caught me. Sam and Dean barely made it there in time and I spent a good two weeks in the hospital after. It was rough, they’re not friendly creatures. At all.”

“Well, no creature is friendly. But I am glad your brothers rescued you in time.”

I decide not to elaborate on Ketch’s first sentence, Garth popping into my mind, but instead I just give him a smile that he returns, despite being in the presence of his colleagues. He hardly smiles or shows any real emotion around them, hence why he is standing a bit away from me. I think we both know that if he was near me, we wouldn’t be professional.

It’s a problem, truly.

“So where’s this thing hiding out?” I ask, turning the subject back around.

“An abandoned warehouse,” Serena begins, clicking something on her remote to reveal the map. “Just a couple hours from here.”

“I can leave tonight,” Ketch announces, studying the map closely. “And be back by tomorrow afternoon.”

He is a machine. Sometimes I would love to get him away from all this.

“That covers everything then,” Mick says, standing from his chair. “You’re all dismissed.”

I push back in my chair, standing to my feet. Ketch is right behind me, his hands clasped in front of him. We’ve had a silent agreement to tone down the PDA when we’re here – or rather, he discussed it with me on the way here, and I’m choosing to behave because regardless of how I see it, this organization is important to him and I am going to respect that.

He merely smiles. “That was quicker than usual.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, well I can spot a Djinn from a mile away. They’re nasty sons of bitches.”

My dialect still makes him laugh, as he does now, shaking his head. You would think after spending this month with me, he would be used to it by now. But it still makes him smile, and I can’t say I hate it.

“Joy! Can I have a moment?”

Though the question is direction at me, Mick still looks to Ketch when he asks, only once again reminding me of Ketch’s stupid jealousy.

I look to Mick with a smile. “Of course.”

If Ketch didn’t have a hunt to prepare for, I’m sure he would be following me into Mick’s office. But instead he steps to the side to speak with Serena, giving me a look that says we’ll be talking about this later. And I’ll, once again, have to tell him he’s being ridiculous.

It doesn’t help that Mick’s office has glass windows from the ceiling to the floor, so despite the fact that Ketch is talking with Serena, he still has his body turned where he can keep an eye on us. I roll my eyes and put my back to Ketch, stepping in front of Mick to at least block some of Ketch’s glare.

 “So,” I breathe, giving Mick a small smile. “What’s up?”

He gives a little shake of his head. “Nothing. Just wanted to thank you for your input in today’s briefing. It went smoother having you here.”

“Ketch said the same thing,” I nod. “I take it you guys normally have a hard time identifying creatures?”

 He raises his eyebrows, heaving a sigh as he sits down in his desk chair. “Yes, actually. Some of them…appear different here.”

 I furrow my eyebrows.

“They’ve had more time to evolve.”

“Oh,” I nod. “Right.”

“But that’s no one’s fault.”

I raise my eyebrows, looking at him in mild shock. That’s a step, even for him.

“And not what I called you in here for. If you are interested, we could use you in future briefings. I’m sure Ketch will be happy to pass on the information.”

I smile. “I’m sure. And I would love to. I’ve seen a lot, so…I’ll recognize a lot.”

“And that’s what we need,” he reiterates. “Thank you for your help. It’s greatly appreciated.”

“You’re welcome, it’s no problem. Is that all?”

He nods, his eyes glancing behind me. “That is all.”

“He’s staring at you, isn’t he?”

“Only a little. Nothing I haven’t seen before. He’s rather…territorial.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” And despite the fact that it should probably scare me, it instead excites me.

Another problem, truly.

“I’ll go. Do some damage control.”

“All right,” Mick laughs. “Good seeing you.”

“You too,” I nod, turning and walking out of his office.

Sure enough, I catch Ketch turning his head a little too abruptly to be discreet. I roll my eyes, heading over to Ketch and Serena by the front screens.

“Excuse me,” Ketch says to Serena before I can even get to them. She understands his wording and leaves, going over to Mick’s office and starting conversation with him. I glance back over at her talking with Mick, his smile evident and her laugh being able to be faintly heard through the glass.

I turn back to Ketch and raise an eyebrow. “They seem friendly.”

He flashes a tight smile. “Would you mind accompanying me to the Armory?”

I nearly roll my eyes. I know where this is headed. “Sure.”

We walk next to one another to the Armory, not too close because the last thing I need is another scolding from him about behaving myself. I’m really not in the mood today. And my knee is beginning its daily protest, so that doesn’t help matters either.

He presses his hand against the screen, unlocking the door. He pushes the door open, gesturing me to step inside first.

And I do, walking in and turning on my heels to face him as he walks in, pulling the door closed behind him.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Your jealousy is really stupid, just so you know.”

He gives me a look that is entirely childish and entirely obvious. “I believe it is valid.”

“Why?” I almost laugh. “Mick is harmless, come on! He invited me to briefings, that’s it.”

He nearly glares at me. “He would’ve done a lot more had I not been watching.”

I uncross my arms when he steps past me. “You know when Mick was in my room last night—”

Ketch nearly drops the weapon he was holding. “He was in your room?”

I raise an eyebrow. “We talked. I told you.”

He places the weapon down on the table, moving to step closer to me. “You never told me he was in your room.”

Here we go.

I roll my eyes as he snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. I rest my hands on his chest, keeping some distance so I can continue talking.

“He is harmless. You don’t need to try to compete with him.”

“I know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Because this whole territorial business you have going on shows me that you think you do. So I’m telling you now.” I move one hand up to cup his jaw, making sure he looks into my eyes. “I’m yours, and only yours, okay? There’s no one else.” I finish the statement by pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips, moving my hands to the back of his neck.

He pulls away after a second. “Come on this hunt with me.”

I smile. “Ketch, you know I’d love to.”

“But?”

“But Eileen is coming to visit later,” I tell him. It’s probably best I leave out the fact that when Eileen returns, her and the boys are heading out to hopefully get Kelly Kline and get her back safely to the bunker. Hopefully.

I can tell in his eyes that he wants to argue, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. “Well, I suppose I can wait. There will always be another hunt.”

“Exactly,” I grin. “And hey, maybe one will work where the boys are also out. You could hunt, and we could have a couple days to ourselves.”

He smiles then, pulling me in for a quick kiss. “I shall work on it.” And then his lips are on mine, stealing my breath once again.


	14. i understand...because i've been there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely a filler. The bad stuff is about to start happening, so buckle up.
> 
> Oh, and there's going to be a sequel ;))

Ketch drops me off back at the bunker, speeding away quickly just in case my brothers are home. I make a promise to call him later tonight, but he said he would call me since he isn’t sure what time he’ll be done with the hunt. I tell him to be careful. And as usual, he laughs at me.

            The bunker is empty when I make it inside, having to flick the lights on myself. I check my phone for any messages, finding one from Sam about thirty minutes ago.

**> Sasquatch: Got a definite lead. Should be back later tonight hopefully with Kelly.**

I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank goodness.

**> Awesome. Did you let Mick in on it?**

I chuckle to myself as I hit send. I stuff my phone in my back pocket, heading into the kitchen in search of some food. Ketch and I didn’t have time to eat unfortunately.

            My phone buzzes when I’m at the fridge.

**> Sasquatch: I did, yeah. **

**> Did you tell Dean?**

**> Sasquatch: Not exactly**

I laugh, shutting the fridge door. We’re out. Of basically everything. There’s some dinner leftover from last night, but I’ll eat later. I’m not that hungry right now anyway.

**> He’ll live. You think she’ll come back here?**

**> Sasquatch: Hoping so. Dean might not give her a choice**

**> Fair enough. I’ll get a room set up for her**

**> Sasquatch: Thanks sis. I’ll let you know when we’re headed back**

**> Okay. See you soon**

I walk down the hall to the empty room next to Cas’s, opening the door. It’s the only one left with the biggest bed – a full, I think – and I want Kelly to have it.

            I place my phone on the dresser, moving it back a little so the speaker will project my music further through the room while I clean it up a little.

            The linens are in the closet, and it takes no time to make the bed. I grab extra pillows from the other spare rooms and place them on the bed.

            I clean the mirror, dust having been collecting on it for some time now. The dressers are all empty, but I make sure to put extra blankets in the bottom nightstand drawers.

            Despite everything, I’m hoping Kelly agrees to come back here. We can protect her from Dagon, from everything. I can help, Eileen can help. Make sure she’s comfortable when it’s time for her baby to be born.

            I just want her to let us help her.

            But every time I think about it, I understand why she doesn’t want our help. Because I’ve been there before. And I made a stupid deal because of it.

            I need a drink. That’s it.

            I leave the door to Kelly’s room open, the lamp on her nightstand on as well. Just to let things air out and hopefully feel more home-like when she gets here.

            I sit in the library with my beer, reading up on more Lore about Nephilims. Because there’s still hope in me that there is some way we can let Kelly have her baby and keep her safe as well. There has to be some way.

 

* * *

 

 

What feels like ages and two books of Lore later, I hear the bunker door opening. Nearly scrambling from my seat, I run into the map room, looking expectantly among my brothers and Eileen.

            But no Kelly Kline.

            My eyebrows furrow. “Where’s…?”

            “With Dagon,” Dean answers.

            My face falls. “But…”

            “I know,” Sam breathes, glancing at Eileen.

            It’s then that I notice my best friend is near tears. I immediately rush to her, holding her hands. “What’s wrong? E, talk to me. What happened?”

            She shakes her head, removing her hands from mine to sign, but it’s broken like her voice. “I killed— He wasn’t a monster, he—”

I look to Sam for help, but he’s staring at the floor. My eyes find Eileen’s again, tears welling in my own eyes just from seeing her in this state.

“C’mere,” I whisper, pulling her into my arms. “It’s not your fault.” Whatever it was.

I hear Dean walking away into the library, most likely to get a drink. But instead of following him, I feel Sam’s arm wrap around us, his chin resting on Eileen’s head as she silently cries between us.

This is going to be a long night.

We decide to watch movies, Eileen not wanting to sleep but not wanting to talk either. We settle for comedies, just something to make us laugh in spite of tonight’s events. While it doesn’t make her laugh as much as they used to, it does make her laugh enough.

After Eileen falls asleep, which takes around four movies to happen, Sam guides me into the library where Dean is sitting, sharing a glass of whiskey with himself.

Dean meets my eyes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” I breathe. “E’s asleep for now.” I look between my brothers. “Can either of you fill me in? I know she doesn’t want to talk, but I’d like to know what happened at least with Kelly.”

Sam grabs the second glass, pouring some whiskey for himself. “Dean had her. We had her. But Dagon showed up, as usual.”

“Kelly is back with Dagon, but we’ll…we’ll figure something out. Again.” Dean says these words like he has before, but this time around, he doesn’t sound so hopeful.

“And,” Sam pauses to clear his throat, his eyes focused on the whiskey in his glass, “Mick brought someone with him. Renny.”

I furrow my eyebrows.

“Eileen had the Colt, had a shot at Dagon and took it. But Dagon vanished, and the bullet entered Renny instead.”

My mouth opens in shock, tears springing to my eyes. “That’s…that’s who she killed?”

“She didn’t mean to,” Sam replies.

“I know that,” I shake my head. “I’m not upset about that I just…he wasn’t a monster. And that was her first…I’m assuming?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I think so.”

I rub my hands down my face, muttering, “Oh, E…”

“It’s okay,” Sam tries. “At least for now. Mick nearly killed her, something about The Code, but we convinced him not to. He did the right thing.”

I at least can thank him for that. “He’s growing. Being around you guys.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah.”

I ignore his dismissal and turn back to Sam. “So that’s it? Everything’s fine? Well, besides Kelly, but everything else?”

He shrugs. “Should be. I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping to convince Eileen to stay here for a while, lay low.”

I nod. “I’ll try to help. Tell her I need the company or something.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah.”

“Okay well,” I breathe, “since she’s asleep, I’m gonna head that way, too. You guys okay?”

They both nod, offering small smiles.

I sigh. “Night guys.”

Sam pulls me into a side hug, kissing the top of my head. “Night sis.”

I grab the book I was reading off the table and take it with me to my room, knowing myself well enough to know I won’t fall asleep as soon as I lay down. As I pass what was supposed to be Kelly’s room, I turn the light off with a sad smile. Maybe one day she’ll use it. Or someone will.

As I’m settling into bed, I remember to check my phone, hoping for a call from Ketch. But all that’s there is a text.

**> No One: Have to postpone our call tonight, love. Hunt went smoothly, the Djinn is dead, but I’m being called to the compound immediately. **

I smile sadly. He’s probably being called in about what happened earlier, but I play it off like I have no clue.

**> That’s okay. I’m sort of lost in a book right now. Call tomorrow?**

I don’t have time to put my phone down before he answers, probably texting and driving like he shouldn’t be.

**> No One: I hope to see you in person tomorrow, but yes. I will call.**

I chuckle, not being able to fight the smile on my face.

**> Goodnight**

**> No One: Goodnight, love.**

* * *

 

 

I wake a little later than usual, the book of Lore still open on the bed next to me. Still nothing. Even after a full night of reading.

            After strapping my brace onto my knee, I make my way out into the library, finding my brothers sitting at the table, sharing coffee.

            “Hey, you, uh, you hear anything from Cas yet?”

            I walk right into the middle of a conversation, as usual. But hearing Cas’s name peaks my interest.

            “He’s still AWOL?”

            Dean nods in confirmation. “Yeah. He’s still MIA.”

            “You think he’s alright?” Sam asks.

            Dean shakes his head, and by that I can tell he’s thought about that, too. “I don’t know.”

            I settle into the chair, bringing one leg underneath me and sighing heavily. Cas isn’t normally gone this long. As I look around, I notice we’re missing someone. “Hey, where’s Eileen?”

            Sam sighs this time. “She took off. Uh, said she’s heading back to Ireland for a while. Just needs some time, I guess.”

            “And she didn’t say goodbye?”

            Sam shakes his head. “No, she left a note.”

            Maybe at least in Ireland she’ll be safe. Away from all of this mess.

            I hope.

            Sam, deciding to change the subject, taps my leg. “We got something last night.”

            I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

            He hands me something wrapped in a brown cloth, and when it hits my hands, I know immediately what it is. I can’t help the stupid grin that breaks onto my face when I unwrap it, holding The Colt loosely in my hands.

            “Oh my god,” I breathe. “I haven’t held this in forever.”

            “It has been a while,” Sam agrees.

            Dean sets his coffee cup down, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go out today.”

            I start wrapping The Colt back up, handing it back to Sam. “And do what?”

            “We need food,” he points out.

            I smile. We haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while. “I’ll go get dressed.”

            Having forgotten about Ketch wanting to see me today, I get dressed without a single care in the world.

            Because Ketch can wait. I need a day with my brothers. We haven’t done this in a while and I miss them.

            This is the first time in a long time that I’m really starting to miss being alive.


	15. i'm not an idiot.

_i’m gonna brand you with my lips/and all of the world will know that you’re mine_

It’s been two days and I have heard absolutely nothing from Ketch.

            I’m trying not to let it bother me. He’s probably busy back at the compound after Renny was killed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were devising a plan to find Eileen. I’m just hoping since she’s in Ireland, they won’t be finding her.

            I could talk to Ketch. I thought about it all night. Maybe ask him to give her a pass because she is my best friend. But I’m sure to do that, he’d— or the British Men of Letters in general would want something in return. Like my brothers’ full submission.

            Which obviously won’t happen, so that’s a bit of a dead-end street.

            So now I sit in the library, trying to distract myself with Lore – and beer – as usual. Sam and I have been going through every book we have on Demons – which is a lot, in case you were wondering – and so far all we’ve got is that Dagon is a Prince of Hell. Hopefully the last.

            But there’s only mentions of her. No ways to kill her, or any of them. Nothing she’s done in the past. Just her title. And the others.

            “They’re damn good at staying completely off the radar,” I chuckle, closing the book in front of me for emphasis.

            Dean sits in front of Sam and me, cleaning The Colt. “Well, yeah, isn’t that kinda their thing?”

            I scoff. “Yeah. I guess so.”

            After a moment of silence, Sam’s laptop dings.

            “Hm. Just got an e-mail from Mick,” he says, clicking on the notification. “It’s a case.”

            For whatever reason, a sigh of relief flows through me at the thought of Mick still being alive. Hopefully things at the compound aren’t as dark as I was expecting.

            “Good,” Dean says. “What is it?”

            “Looks like a guy named Jarrod Hayes disappeared in Tomahawk, Wisconsin, a week ago. No witnesses. No body.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. “What else?” I catch a small smirk coming from Dean.

            “Mick says this place has history.”

            Dean pauses from cleaning The Colt. “What kind?”

            “A lot of people go missing in Tomahawk,” Sam almost chuckles. “One a year, every year, from 1898 to 1997 and then nothing until now.”

            I silently do the math in my head. “So it’s been 20 years.”

            Sam nods. “Yeah. So maybe they’re starting up again? Maybe it’s a cycle of some sort?”

            Dean shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”

            Thirty minutes and a heart-to-heart later, my brothers are heading to Tomahawk. Sam asked once again if I wanted to come, but I take another raincheck. After what happened with Eileen, I’m thinking I need to lay low for a little while. And part of me wants to see Ketch.

            So I text him. Ask him if he’s busy. And miraculously, he responds almost immediately.

**> No One: I am free for a moment. Can I pick you up?**

I smirk.

**> You know you don’t have to ask**

And just like that, my mood is lifted to the clouds.

            I’m still debating on asking him about Renny, but I know it might be dangerous territory. If I ask, then it is assumed I know Eileen killed him. And if I know that, I would no doubt become a suspect. Relationship with Ketch or not.

            So I decide against it, again. I won’t ask and hopefully he won’t want to talk about it. Though, the latter isn’t much of a worry. He’s never one to talk about work too much, unless it involved recruiting me.

            Which, as much as I hate to say it, wouldn’t be so bad.

            I shrug my leather jacket over my shoulders, tying the laces of my combat boots tight before tucking them in. I make sure my necklace – a birthday present from Dean, said it was one of mom’s that he found and wanted to give to me – is resting on my chest.

            I’m not an idiot. I see the way it catches Arthur’s eyes. It’s sort of interesting to watch.

            When he sends a text letting me know he’s outside with the Norton, I practically throw myself up the bunker’s spiral stairs, careful not to hit my knee anywhere. I’m having a good day, for once, and I don’t need my clumsiness to ruin it.

            I can’t help the grin that breaks onto my face when I set him waiting for me, leaned against his motorcycle in his own leather jacket. Thankfully I control myself enough to slowly walk over to him instead of throwing myself into his arms.

            And it seems my slow walk did its job.

            “I could watch you do that all day.”

            I chuckle, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. “You’ve missed me.”

            “And you seem to have missed me,” he replies, his hands instantly smoothing under my shirt.

            It isn’t long before he’s pulling me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist to keep me pressed against him. And I don’t mind. I could drown in him, but I know he wouldn’t let me.

            “What are today’s plans?” I ask, leaning my head to the side when his nose brushes against my throat. “I hope food is somewhere…in the schedule.”

            “You and your appetite.”

            “Oh, come on. I didn’t eat for seven years, I’m catching up.”

            I feel him when he tenses, his actions faltering for a fraction of a moment. I sigh when he moves to look at me, his eyes searching mine. Anyone who says this man isn’t caring is a damn liar. I swear every time I make a harmless joke he has to check that I’m okay. And he doesn’t ask, because he knows my answer. He searches my eyes instead, letting me know the true meaning of eyes being the window to the soul.

            “Something in me still wonders why you made that deal.”

            I chuckle, pressing my hand against his cheek. I don’t normally, but I should more often. His skin is so soft. “And something in me still wonders why you’re so curious.”

            He closes the gap between us, kissing me gently before pulling away. “I only want to understand you, that is all.”

            “And the feeling is mutual,” I smile softly. “Maybe tonight I’ll share some dark secrets. Only if you share some of yours.”

            He cracks a small smile. “I was not planning on talking much tonight.”

            I smirk. “Good. Neither was I.”

 

* * *

 

 

I step out of the shower to an empty hotel room, rolling my eyes. Arthur isn’t normally the type to have sex and run, but I know things are busy at the compound right now. And the note on top of a box on the bed confirms it.

_I was called into something last minute. I will return in time for dinner, around seven._

_-A xx._

I lay the note down on the bed, moving to untie the ribbon on the box. I’ve seen enough romantic comedies to know what the box contains, but the gesture is still unexpected and…incredibly sweet. Especially coming from Arthur.


	16. inside the bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is in third person for the sake of adding some suspense to the story. I might do a couple more this way due to some events that are going to happen soon...you'll see why.

Inside the bunker, Arthur Ketch delivers orders at a rate that he reminds himself of his old commander. And a wave of pride washes over him at the thought.

            He turns to one soldier. “Apparently, Mick let them get their hands on…the bloody Colt. Find it, huh?” The soldier nods, like the obedient dog he is, and accepts his order.

            Turning to the room, he addresses all of them in general. “By the time we leave, Dr. Hess wants to know everything about the Winchesters. The rooms are my priority, the rest of you focus on the library, map room, and kitchen.”

            One of the soldiers with a camera in his hands, who Ketch has been known to call a pain in the ass, asks, “What about Joy, sir?”

            Ketch’s face hardens. “I said she is not here. Now get to work. I have somewhere to be.”

            Camera flashes light up the rooms, along with the sound of microphones being synced to the system as they are placed around various places.

            Ketch doesn’t necessarily agree with this method. Well, he agrees with spying on the brothers seeing as they are the hardest to persuade, but Joy is different. Ketch knows it won’t be hard at all to get the younger sibling completely onboard, not when she’s hanging around him.

            He knows he has a magnetic attraction. And he uses it to his advantage.

            Ketch moves to the rooms, going into Sam’s first. It’s about the same as Joy’s, except less…Joy. There’s books everywhere, but no desk. It’s obvious all he does here is read and sleep.

            Moving onto Dean’s room, Ketch finds exactly what he is expecting to find with someone like Dean. Half-eaten food. Various weapons hanging from the walls and scattered in drawers. A set of crumpled sheets in one drawer that Ketch leaves alone, moving on to the nightstand.

            There he finds one of Dean’s spare guns. He places it on the nightstand carefully, sifting through the pictures and papers in the drawer. He stumbles upon one picture in particular. It’s of the three of them: Sam, Dean, and Joy. All young, most likely taken just before Joy made that deal, judging by their faces.

            But Joy. Ketch studies her face for the longest time. It’s a simple picture, so he shouldn’t be reading into her facial expression as much as he is, but he is anyway. He was trained to, and it’s hard to break that.

            It’s obvious just from a single picture that Joy wasn’t happy. The exhaustion and pain in her eyes— It’s something Ketch knows well. Because it’s in his eyes as well, but because he has seen that look on Joy’s face. It was more prevalent when he had first met her, when he stumbled into the bunker that night for a drink. It’s diminished as of late, but the sheer fact that he has seen that look on her face – and knows it, even after knowing her for a short month—

            It’s obvious to him that her brothers pay her no attention. And for that, he places the pictures back in the nightstand and stands to his feet.

            He shuts the light off when he exits Dean’s room, moving on to Joy’s room.

            Ketch is unable to stop the small smile that crawls onto his face at the sight. Joy’s room is comfortable and…completely Joy. The smell, the books, the colors. It is hard for him to explain, but he feels different when he is here. And when he is with her.

            He doesn’t spend much time in here. He knows Joy and trusts her. But he is looking for one thing.

            Once he finds it, he tucks it in his hand, shutting the light off as he leaves her room. He cracks the door exactly how she always leaves it, careful not to leave it an inch or two different.

            Walking back out into the library, he sees his men packing up their gear, right on schedule.

            Ketch listens absentmindedly as one of his men describes the microphone placements, how the audio should be optimal, but Ketch knows he will have to ask them all to repeat this when they return to the compound.

            Ketch places the book back down on the table in the library, nodding to his men to start heading up the stairs.

            Before he shuts off the lights, he glances at the book with an almost sad smile.

            _It is for the best, Joy._

            And with that, he turns all the lights off, and follows his men up and out of the Winchester’s bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the hell did Ketch do?
> 
> You'll find out soon.


	17. the world needs you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet little moment between Joy and Arthur -- notice Arthur is used more often now rather than Ketch. What could that be about, you ask?
> 
> No clue (kidding, I know), but notice the little "The world needs you" exchange.
> 
> Remember there is more than one way to say "I love you" to someone. Sometimes you have to read between the lines. What's not explicitly there may still be there in the shadows.
> 
> That sounded way more poetic and cringey than I was intending. Apologies.

_i know i haven't been perfect/but give it some time/'cause not a single day goes by/when you don't cross my mind_

-

“So is everything okay at the compound?”

            Arthur hums, his eyes lifting from his glass of wine. It’s oddly domestic, sitting in this restaurant with him. He’s having wine with me for the first time since we’ve ever met. We’ve always had whiskey – or, _Scotch_ , as he corrects me many times in his snotty accent that I hate to admit I have grown to adore.

            I chuckle. “You said you were called back in today? Is everything okay?”

            “Oh,” he nods, chuckling a little as his misstep. “Yes, everything is alright.” He studies me for a moment. “You are incredibly distracting.”

            My smile is devious. “I know.”

            “I will have to return to the compound tonight,” he breathes, reaching across the table to grab my hand.

            I frown. “What for?”

            “Well, Mick returned to London this afternoon,” he replies, letting a sigh flow past his lips. I don’t care what he says, he cares about Mick. Maybe subconsciously, but he does. “After Dagon and Renny…Mick has a lot to answer for.”

            “So now you’re the guy in charge?”

            He nods. “Yes, well, that is one way to look at it.”

            I crack a small smile. “I’m proud of you. Even if it’s just because Mick had to go back to London, I’m still proud. You deserve it, you know.”

            He stares at me strangely for a moment before replying. “I don’t know about that, but…thank you. You are quite possibly the first person who has spoken those words to me.”

            “I can keep saying it,” I tease.

            He shakes his head, but I can tell he secretly enjoys it. “No, I don’t want to talk about work all evening.”

            “Good,” I smile softly. “Me either.”

            “So…dark secrets?” I look up to see him raising his eyebrows.

            There’s the teasing Arthur Ketch I know and love. “Are you planning to spill some of your own?”

            “I’m sure I can think of a few.”

            “Alright. What d’ya wanna know?”

            I watch as he studies my face for a moment, taking a deep breath. There’s only one thing I know of that would leave him at a loss for words like this, so I start talking, saving him the painful moment of trying to figure out how to word his question.

            “I felt like I was always in the way,” I say truthfully, bringing my glass of wine to my lips. “It felt like I was hurting more than I was helping. So I made the deal. Because with the deal, I was helping.” When he doesn’t say anything, I clarify. “It was me being in The Empty forever for my brothers staying alive indefinitely. At the time, the world was in a pretty crappy state. So it was a good deal. The world really needs them, you know.”

            He nods slowly.

            It isn’t the full truth about the secret, but it’s truthful enough. I did feel like I was in the way. I did feel like nothing I did helped. But I didn’t just make the deal. It wasn’t as simple as that. Nothing was ever that simple.

            I had thought about it for weeks, hell, I felt those feelings for months, but always shoved them down. Sam helped. He always told me I was needed. He always let me help with research. But it was one too many beers for Dean and one mess up from me and suddenly hell was breaking loose in a motel room. Suddenly I was getting yelled at for some stupid stumble of mine and suddenly I was the worst decision of their lives – keeping me, instead of letting Bobby raise me.

            Our food comes to the table, putting the conversation on a momentary hold and startling my thoughts back into the present. But halfway through the meal peppered with some mindless small talk, Arthur decides to speak.

            “The world needs you, as well.”

            I look up from my food, his small statement catching me off guard. “Thanks.” I’m not sure I believe that just yet.

            “And while I can understand your thought process, I hope you haven’t considered…making another…”

            I smirk, shaking my head. “No.” I pause, reaching forward and grabbing his hand this time. “I actually feel like I have something— _someone_ to lose this time. Someone I really don’t wanna lose.”

            He runs his thumb over the back of my hand soothingly, wrapping his hand around mine. His hands are much bigger than mine, which is always interesting when we hold hands. But it’s comforting. And comfort isn’t something I have felt in a long time. But comfort is something I feel every single moment I spend with him.

            “What about you?” I ask, smirking. “Make any deals with the Devil?”

            He laughs then. “No, no deals. But do you recall when I mentioned The Men of Letters being my family?”

            I nod. “I recall.”

            I can tell he wants to scold me for briefly mocking his accent, but he doesn’t. “Well, that is because I don’t know my real family.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. “What?”

            “Mick and I attended Kendrick’s, a feeder school for the British Men of Letters.”

            I nod again. “I’ve heard some of you talk about it.”

            “I was dropped off there,” he continues. “So I don’t know my parents. What little I did remember is gone now. I remember being dropped off, but nothing more.”

            “Arthur…” I pause, squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

            He shakes his head. “It’s all right. It’s in the past.”

            I smile. “You know just because it’s in the past doesn’t mean you can’t still be upset about it.”

            It takes him a moment, but he nods. “I will try to remember that.”

            “Good,” I nod, squeezing his hand again. “Because Arthur?”

            “Hm?”

            “The world needs you, too.”


	18. i'm not asking you to agree with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is, essentially, where shit hits the fan. Because now with the Winchester siblings fighting, Joy will be spending more time with Ketch. And if you remember anything about season 12 and where we're at now in the story, you'll know some really bad things are about to begin.
> 
> And yes, he did tell her Mick was in London. Obviously he isn't. You get the idea.

I know Sam and Dean must have made it back to the bunker late because they weren’t here when I fell asleep, but they are here now that I’m awake.

            I walk into the library with a smile, giving them both a hug around the neck. That’s the fastest they’ve ever made it back from a hunt, but it still feels good to have them here.

            “Wait, Joy,” Sam reaches out for my arm, stopping me on my way to the kitchen. “Can we talk to you for a moment?”

            I furrow my eyebrows, glancing at Dean who looks, dare I say, royally pissed off. “Uh…sure. What’s wrong?”

            “We think you know,” Dean’s harsher tone always shines through and when it does, I immediately know this isn’t a good conversation. “Have a seat.”

            I nearly roll my eyes. I have experienced many of these conversations – back before I died. It seemed like every time I tried to help out or do anything, it always ended in one of these situations.

            So, now I know how to handle them.

            “I’ll stand, thanks. What’s up?”

            My brothers share a look before also standing. Sam moves to the other side of the table where Dean is standing, sliding a book over to him.

            “This fell out of this book when I went to move it last night.”

            Sam holds up a small slip of paper. It takes a few long seconds for it to click, and when it does, a cold dose of panic goes down my spine.

            “And?” I say, trying to play dumb. I need them to tell me what exactly they think is going on before I admit anything. This could be harmless.

            Hell, I’m kidding myself. I know this isn’t harmless. They know. Sooner than I wanted them to, and not how I wanted them to find out.

            “And,” Sam breathes, “I looked it up. It’s an address. To a four-star hotel, just thirty minutes from here.”

            Dean jumps in. “So, I thought, why would that be in a book? Then I remembered, you use weird shit for bookmarks all the time. But why would you have the address of a four-star hotel?”

            I take a deep breath. “I know it looks bad—”

            “Yeah, it does,” Dean snaps.

“I looked further,” Sam interrupts, but he doesn’t sound happy either. “Guess who has a suite on the top floor, booked indefinitely?”

            I avert my eyes to the table. “Who?”

I know who. But he’s going to say his name anyway.

            I know the words that are about to come out of his mouth before he even says them. I can hear the tone, the scolding, in my mind before he even says anything. Because I’ve lived this before. With a different boy. A different time. A different argument. But the same emotions.

            “An Arthur Ketch.”

            “Listen—”

            “What the hell, Joy?” Dean’s question is full of incredulity.

            I look to Sam for help. “I was going to tell you—”

            “Were you?”

            That simple question, simple remark, throttles me back in time. Back to the other time we had this conversation. When I was thirteen. When I was wrong.

            But this time, I’m not wrong. None of this is wrong. And I’m not thirteen anymore.

            I stare at Dean. “I was going to tell you.” He tries to cut me off, but I hold up my hand, promptly telling him to shut up. “And I get it, okay. You just got me back, and this is probably reminding you of the same thing it’s reminding me. But this time is different.”

            “Yeah it’s different because he’s a psychopath!”

            “He’s not a psychopath!” I cry, throwing my hands up. “You don’t even know him.”

            Dean scoffs. “Oh, I know him well enough. And he is not someone you wanna be hanging around.”

            “Well, too bad,” I shrug. “Because I’ve been hanging around him for two months now. And he has not once hurt me or shown me that he is anything that you two have said he is.”

            “He’s just trying to recruit you.”

            “And so what?” I retort, glaring at Sam. “What they’re doing, is good. I know you don’t entirely agree with their methods, but I’ve told them that.”

            “Told them that?” Dean nearly laughs out of hysterics. “You’ve been to the base?”

            “Twice,” I nod. “It’s not bad. What they’re trying to do—”

            “Is brainwash you. That’s what he’s doing.”

            “He’s not brainwashing me!” I scream. “This isn’t Stockholm Syndrome.”

            “Then tell me,” Dean pauses, cracking that stupid smile of his that I want to slap right off his face, “what makes you think he’s being serious? And not playing with you?”

            I narrow my eyes. “He pays attention to me—”

            “And we don’t?”

            “Every time I look up, you’re gone on a hunt!”

            “We’ve told you that you can come with.”

            “Oh, what?” I laugh darkly. “So I can sit in some motel room all day? No thanks.”

            Silence follows, Dean shaking his head in disbelief. This is ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. Sam has been mostly quiet, only making this resemble our old fights even more. Sam always stayed quiet while Dean laid into me.

            “So while we’ve been hunting,” Sam begins, his tone level and calm, “you’ve been with him?”

            I nod. “In the suite, or at the compound, or sometimes just out.”

            “Just out? What does that mean?”

            I glare at my older brother. “It means we go out. On dates. To book stores. To restaurants. _Out_.”

            He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, but I’m still wondering how you think he isn’t using you.”

            I shake my head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

            “Joy—”

            “I’m an adult, Dean. And that’s how I was planning to handle this. Until you went snooping around because you don’t trust me.”

            “You’re sixteen,” Dean scoffs.

            “I was when I died.”

            They both look at me. This is the first time I’ve really referenced it near them. We sort of pushed it away because it isn’t exactly a friendly topic. And because we all know what happened. We all know exactly what went down. We don’t need to relive it or talk about it or dwell on it.

            “I was sixteen when I died. I know it’s been seven years since you’ve seen me. But I will not sit here and ask for approval on who I can date or who I can see outside of you two.”

            Dean shakes his head. “I don’t agree with this.”

            “I’m not asking you to.”

            “Joy—”

            “I’m not asking either of you to agree with it – or me. I’m just asking you to respect it. That’s all.”

            Sam nods. He’s the first one to reply to me, as expected. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t agree with it, but…you’re an adult. Least I can do is respect that.”

            “Thank you,” I breathe, a small smile stretching across my lips. I turn to Dean, who currently hangs his head. He’s thinking, I know. “Dean?” I sigh. “Just say something.”

            “I don’t know what to say,” he says, finally lifting his head to meet my eyes. “Okay. I guess? I don’t agree with it. And I’m disappointed, but okay. You want to be treated like an adult, then okay.”

            I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow. “You’re disappointed? Seriously?” That’s low. And what’s worse is he’s acting like he doesn’t even remember.

            He nods like it’s obvious. “Yeah I’m disappointed in you. We told you to watch out for them. We told you how terrible they are. You know what they did to Sam—”

            “That was one person.”

            “We warned you about them. And I’m just disappointed you let them get in your head.”

            I laugh. “Whatever.”

I turn on my heels and storm down the hallway. I’m not about to sit in this bunker with them all day. I’ll fucking suffocate if I’m in this building with Dean’s “I’m disappointed in you” speech every time I walk by him.

            I know how he works. It’ll be the same as last time. Only this time I have a way to remove myself, so I don’t do something dangerous and stupid.

            I close my bedroom door behind me, flicking the lock because if I know anything about Sam, then I know he followed me and is about to start knocking. I slide my duffle bag out from under my bed, moving to my drawers to grab clothes. A few days’ worth. I’m not sure when I’ll feel like coming back here.

            I fish my phone out of my pocket as I’m rummaging through my jeans, dialing Arthur’s number. Surprisingly, he picks up on the second ring.

            “Arthur Ketch speaking.”

            “Hey,” I breathe. “Where are you at?”

            “Well, love, this is a surprise. I’m in the Armory at this moment.”

            I sigh. He’s working. “Oh, I was just wondering. But never mind. Not important.” I can drive my old car. It’s still in the garage, I see her every day, I just never drive her. Kind of hard to with my knee and wanting to stay hidden, but the first hasn’t been bothering me today and the latter was thrown out the window two months ago. I’m sure I can manage.

            “That is an odd thing to wonder about.” He pauses. “What are you doing?”

            “Packing a bag,” I chuckle, tossing some jeans into the duffle bag. “Had a fight. Kinda want to get out of here. But you’re working, so don’t worry. I’m sure I can drive fine.”

            “Joy.”

            I sigh, my eyes welling with tears for the first time since Dean opened his big mouth. “What?”

            “I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

            I sit down on my bed, covering my face with my hands. “Thank you.”

            I hear the Bentley’s engine start up in the background. “Don’t worry about it, love. Just stay where you are. I’ll call you when I’m there.”

            I hang up then, gathering my senses and drying my tears enough to finish packing my bag. I throw in an old notebook, my laptop, and the last book of Lore I was reading. I stuff my favorite blanket in there too, not wanting to be without it.

            Arthur calls me again when he’s out front. I exit my room with my bag on my back, walking through the map room and past my brothers.

            I’m halfway up the stairs when Dean finally decides to ask, “Where are you going?”

            My only response is a glare.

            I slam the door behind me, and when I finally see Arthur leaned up against the hood of his Bentley, I want to start sobbing.

            I don’t. But I do throw myself into his arms, and he is getting the hang of this because he holds me for as long as I need. Thankfully my brothers don’t follow me out. The last thing I need is a confrontation with them and Arthur today.

            I look up from his chest, his hand cupping my cheek to smooth a stray tear out from under my eye. He kisses my forehead, then moving to my lips. Soft and gentle. Something he isn’t often, but when he is, it’s special.

            Just like right now, being in his arms. It’s special.


	19. i'm not sure who's more pissed off with who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking of ideas for this story's sequel and ohhhh boy it's going to be so good.

I accompany Arthur back to the compound. Him needing to finish up what he was working on and me not really wanting to be alone at the moment.

            I follow him back to the Armory, waving to Serena and Alton and meeting a new face, Dr. Paige. Alton is still weird as always, Serena the sweetest thing, and Dr. Paige seems to be friendly as well.

            You know, and I hate to even think this, but it seems like when I come here I’m met with more smiling faces than I am anywhere else. It’s no wonder I don’t mind coming here so often.

            Once the door behind us in the Armory closes, Arthur is all over me. I wish I was being overdramatic.

            It takes me a good thirty seconds – and a shockingly massive amount of willpower – to remind him that we’re here because he has to finish work.

            If he was one to pout, I think he’d be pouting right now. “You always remind me of what I should be doing.” He pauses, cupping my face. “It’s annoying.”

            I laugh loudly, smoothing my hands over his chest. “Well how about this, the sooner you finish here, the sooner we can get back to the suite and finish this.” I wrap my hand around his tie for emphasis, exciting a certain memory from the first time we spent the night in the suite and had some…fun with the ties.

            He takes a deep breath. “I’d like that.”

            “Good,” I smile. “Me too.” I release his tie, stepping back. “But you’ve got to finish here.”

            I swear he almost rolls his eyes. “All right.”

            “Is there anything I can do?” I ask absentmindedly. “Clean or reshelf something?”

            He raises an eyebrow.

            I scoff. “What? You’re not the only one wanting to rush outta here so we can have sex. It’s a two-way street, you know.”

            My retort catches him off guard and dare I say, there might be a blush creeping up his neck. But I don’t mention it. Maybe I will one day when we’ve had too much to drink, but for now I don’t. I admire it silently.

            The silence is gone, though, when he asks me something mid-cleaning his Sig Sauer. “You said you had a fight with your brothers.”

            I nod. I don’t really want to think about it anymore. “Yeah.”

            “What…What was it about?”

            I breathe through a laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He stops cleaning, and for a second, I’m genuinely confused. Because he looks startled, almost terrified, and that wasn’t what I was going for.

I pause, taking a deep, stabling breath as I cross my arms over my chest. “I used the address card you gave me as a bookmark and accidentally left it on the table in the library.” I shake my head. “And I’m an idiot. Because of course their next move was to go snooping around.”

“So now they know…”

“Yeah, they know.” I sigh, trying to brush off the aftermaths of Dean’s words with a shaky smile. “And we fought about it. So now I’m here.” I shake my head again. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to face them again. I’m not sure who’s more pissed off at who, but I’m pretty pissed with them.”

Arthur chuckles, clicking his cartridge back into place. “Well, if you’ll be here for the time being, we need to do something else before we leave.”

I furrow my eyebrows. That’s an odd subject change, but okay. “What do we need to do?” I laugh.

He raises his hand, waving his fingers – possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen him do. “I meant to have it set up the last time you were here, but I was…distracted.”

I smirk. “And I am _so_ not sorry about it.”

He almost grins. “But you need to have your handprint in the system. With it you can come and go and explore as you please.”

My smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Really?” He nods. I shake my head in disbelief. “Okay. We can do that before we leave.”

“Good.” He nods, replacing his gun in the waistband of his pants. He always keeps it in the back, hidden beneath his suit jacket. Seems impractical at first, but he’s surprisingly coordinated with it back there.

I’m not, is what I mean. Mine was always on my right hip.

In remembering that, I also remember that I haven’t carried my pistol in what feels like months. And a smile spreads across my lips when I remember who I met two months ago. And how safe I have felt ever since.

The more I think, the more staying with Arthur in the suite and working on the compound here doesn’t seem too bad.

We leave the Armory as soon as he finishes cleaning and shelving his weapons – surprisingly fast, if I might add. And controlled. Despite my wandering hands that I know he will punish me for later, somehow that doesn’t scare me anymore. Excitement is all I feel.

And I have to admit, Arthur’s face when he is annoyed is something for history books.

He guides me out of the Armory and into the hallway with a stern look that reminds me not to mess with him while we are around his colleagues. Which, as always, I respect.

He introduces me to a Dr. Hess, a woman who is apparently at the top of this entire project. She’s here all the way from London, presumably after what happened with Renny and Dagon.

Then I remember that Arthur told me Mick is back in London, answering for what happened.

God, I just hope he’s okay.

Dr. Hess doesn’t spend long with us, having to leave to make phone calls. So Ketch leads me to Mick’s old office where he can load in my handprint.

It’s simple, really. I just place my hand on a similar screen as those next to the doors and wait for it to be scanned into the database. Once it is finished, he has to enter in that my handprint is good for all doors, entrances, and exits – that I’m a regular here, basically.

It’s exciting. I’m part of something big. That’s something I haven’t had the chance to feel – ever. I never felt this way before the deal.

We test out my handprint on a few doors to make sure it works and after finding that it does, Arthur all but drags me out of there and onto his Norton.

I grin manically as I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning my forehead on his back as he starts the engine.

I feel him sigh deeply.

This is going to be a long ride to the suite – for him.


	20. she is different.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance because I am shit at writing Cas (and everyone else, but I've been told I write Arthur Ketch extremely well, so I'll take that compliment and run with it).
> 
> And I knowww it has been a long while since I updated. I started college and shit is crazy. Thankfully I am living at home as of right now, but classes are a little bit insane. There's a lot going on. But I miss this story like hell, so expect some more updates really soon :))

Dean walks into the map room, finding his brother bent over the table, staring at one specific date – May 18th.

            “Woah,” Dean almost snickers, but can’t bring himself to. The math Sam has laid out in front of him is more complex than Dean has ever seen him do. “What’s up, Beautiful Mind?”

            It’s obvious Sam didn’t sleep, so Dean doesn’t need to mention it. And neither does Sam.

            “Guess I just figured we can’t exactly track Dagon, so I’ve been reading up on Nephilims, trying to figure out how much time we have before—”

            “Lil’ Lucifer pops,” Dean adds, leaning down to study the math.

            “Yeah.” Sam nods. “Okay, so we know Kelly got pregnant sometime in early December. According to the Lore, Nephilim don’t need nine months to get to full term, so I think she will be giving birth around May 18th.” Sam taps the pen on the date. “Which means…”

            “We have less than a month to find her,” Dean sighs.

            “Yeah, and exactly no idea where to start.”

            “Okay, but even if we do find her, what then?”

            “I don’t know,” Sam breathes. “I mean, I—”

Sam is cut off by the bunker door opening at the top of the spiral stairs. Both men stop and look, Dean’s hand ready to pull out his gun, only to find Castiel stepping inside.

“Cas…” Sam furrows his eyebrows. “You’re alright. Where have you been?”

“Let me rephrase that for Sam,” Dean begins, clearly the more pissed off of the two brothers – though recent events haven’t helped his temper any. “Where the _hell_ have you been? And why have you ignored our phone calls?”

“Where I was – reception was poor.”

“No bars?” Dean scoffs. “No bars, that’s his excuse. Wow.”

“I was in Heaven. I was working with the angels.” Cas pauses, but neither Winchester in the room looks overjoyed. “When I saw Dagon captured Kelly, I-I thought they could help.”

“And?” Sam asks, hopefulness in his tone.

Cas shakes his head sadly. “Nothing.”

“Well, at least you’re back,” Sam chuckles. “We’re glad you’re back.”

Dean stares at his brother incredulously. “Really?” He pauses. “No, I’m sorry. Okay, ‘cause while you were striking out in Heaven, we had a shot at Dagon. And we lost.”

Cas nods. “I know. I…received your messages.”

“Oh, you did – you did receive the messages? Okay, that’s good.”

“Dean,” Sam tries, but Dean doesn’t hear him.

“So not only were you ditching us, but you were also ignoring us? That’s great. ‘Cause we really could’ve used the backup. But, uh, you were too busy with um…What was it? Nothing?”

“Dean—” This time it’s Cas, but again, Dean doesn’t hear.

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Cas doesn’t have an answer. “You know, whatever. That’s… Welcome back.”

Dean pushes his way past the angel, down to the hallway. Sam shakes his head, offering Cas a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry, Cas, he’s—I don’t think he’s really mad at you.”

Cas gives Sam a look that says he doesn’t believe on bit of that.

And because Sam has no one else to tell, and because he thinks Cas should know, he starts talking.

“He’s been really messed up with the…Dagon stuff and losing Joy.”

The mention of Joy immediately gains Cas’s attention. “What?”

Sam chuckles. “She’s um…with Ketch.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Arthur Ketch?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, him. We found that she’s been seeing him and confronted her and Dean blew up and she left. She’s probably with him, but we don’t know where. She must’ve turned off her phone as soon as she left.”

“But you know where the British Men of Letters’ base is.”

“She could be there, or she could be at their hotel, or she could be in a different state by now on a hunt with him, there— We have no way to know.”

“I can’t sense her…” Cas trails away, looking down as he tries harder to focus, but that doesn’t help.

Sam’s eyes widen. “I thought you could only sense Dean?”

Cas nods. “I can sense all of you. But she is different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s a long story. One I’m afraid you’ll be upset I didn’t tell earlier.”

“Cas!”

“I’ll explain, to both of you, after Dean calms down,” he replies, giving Sam a look. “But until then, it might be in your interest to know where your sister is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, I know. But ooh, shit. What's up with Joy? Why is she different? ;))


	21. it's all too good to be true.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joy has got it bad for Arthur Ketch. We see just how far down this rabbit hole she is.
> 
> But she seems so happy. It can't be all that bad. Right?

Nights with Arthur Ketch might be my favorite thing on the planet.

            When we’re done with our rendezvous of the night, and we’ve cleaned up and calmed down. When we’re lying in bed next to one another, and I’m running my fingers through his hair and he’s smiling over at me. When we’re laughing the last of our small buzz away, and he’s lacing his fingers with mine and I knock my feet against his. When we’re trying not to stoke the fire and smiling because we might actually be the definition of crazy as we lie here, holding one another.

            I can remember teasing him about cuddling. And now it’s one of my favorite ways to spend time with him.

            It is clear that he doesn’t hold many people – let alone hug many. Every hug I receive, it is clear I am the only one. And every time he holds me through the night, it’s clear he has no intentions of letting me go.

            It’s scary, or it used to scare me to think about, at least. That he might actually love me so much that he will protect me to the ends of the Earth. And that I can feel in my bones…I will do the same for him.

            Love is a scary, scary thing. Something I never truly experienced before. And how odd it is that I am falling in love with a man my brothers despise. With a man that is the definition of “so wrong, it’s right” for me.

            As I lay awake, a few minutes before his alarm is scheduled to go off, I study him. I’ve done this many times before. I haven’t had many nightmares since I met him, but I also don’t sleep much. Instead I spend the time relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. I watch him as he sleeps, as creepy as it sounds. I run my fingers through his hair over and over again.

            He takes in a deep breath, turning his head to kiss my wrist before he opens his eyes, finding mine.

            This. This is a sight I will never take for granted.

            “Morning,” I whisper.

            “Good morning,” he murmurs, reaching up to lace his fingers with mine. Somehow, he makes hand holding seem intimate. Which, with him, I suppose it is. “Did you sleep?”

            “A couple hours,” I nod. “My knee is starting to bother me again.”

            He gives me a look, kissing the back of my hand. “I told you the doctors at the base can help. I am sure it can be fixed.”

            I smile softly. “I know. Maybe one day.”

            He sighs, but it’s gentle. “Are you going to come with me today?”

            “I think so.”

            He smiles again. “Good.”

            And as if on cue, the alarm goes off, signaling his time to get ready. I whine in protest, shutting my eyes. I hear his little chuckle, the rare bit of laughter I can bring out of him. I immediately smile, opening my eyes to see his face.

            We get dressed together. It feels so domestic, in a way. The bathroom door never shuts, the amount of intimacy we share is too great for doors to separate us. He kisses my shoulder while I try to hook my bra. I turn my head to kiss him fully. We waste time against the bathroom counter, making out like too teenagers in love.

            I break away from him to grab a new pair of jeans, tugging them on while he brushes his teeth. I find one of my nicer blouses and shrug it over my shoulders, buttoning the front as I make my way back into the bathroom. He combs his hair in front of the mirror, our eyes catching one another’s in a small moment. We laugh.

            There’s not a single care in my body.

            I help him tie his tie, though he knows perfectly how to do it. I like doing it myself, getting distracted by his hands on my hips. I tug the tie to remind him of the night before, but all that does is ignite the flame we tried hard to tame earlier this morning.

            We waste more time against the bathroom counter.

            And it all feels so right.


	22. he seems different.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the ending of season 12. This chapter (and the next) take place in 12x20 (Twigs, Twine, and Tasha Banes). Good things are not ahead, just a warning.

_i just had to let you know/swear to god you're beautiful_

 

“What’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, leaning my head on Arthur’s shoulder. We’re in Mick’s office, which Arthur seems to have taken over, and we’re alone in this section for now. Everyone is off doing whatever he told them to…which is also odd.

            “Well,” he pauses, finishing and sending an email. “I have a shifter to attend to.”

            “Shifter?” I lift my head from his shoulder. “You have one here?”

            “Captured one, yes,” he nods. “We need intel on where the rest of them are.”

            I furrow my eyebrows. “And you’re expecting a shifter to talk to you?”

            He smiles faintly. “I have my ways.”

            “I’m sure you do,” I chuckle. “But from my experience with shifters, they’re loyal. And sassy sons a bitches. They’re not going to talk to you.”

            And for some reason, he gets that little mischievous glint in his eyes as I tell him this. As if he’s wanting to prove me wrong. As if I am wrong.

            But that’s how he is. He has to see it for himself.

            “Would you care to join me?”

            I flash him a tight smile. “Of course.” I stand from my chair, taking a step back so he can go in front of me. “Lead the way.”

            “Gladly,” he replies.

            His pace is brisk, obviously. He’s on a mission to prove me wrong and get answers from a shape shifter. A _shifter_. They don’t talk. And he’s in for a rude awakening if he believes he can somehow get one to talk, especially when he’s got it held captive away from its family. One shifter dying while keeping the rest of the family safe seems perfectly logical to them. And I’ll be thoroughly surprised if this one talks.

            When we enter the room where the shifter is held, something immediately changes about Arthur.

            He grabs the pitcher of water from the cart and turns to face the shifter, splashing the water directly on its face to wake it up. Once it catches a glimpse of me, though, it changes almost instantly.

            My arms fall to my side.

            Arthur almost laughs. “I suppose it amuses you to take Joy’s form, or perhaps you believe it will inspire some hesitation on my part.”

            I stare at him with wide eyes as he turns to the cart, grabbing one of the spikes and studying it. It’s clear he has done this one too many times. The look in his eye is not one I would expect to see after one or two rounds with this torture.

            “It will not,” he finishes his thought before driving the spike into the shifter’s chest.

            I wince, leaning back against the wall as I—the shifter screams. I can’t listen to this.

            “If you just tell us where your family is, this will all be over. Promise.”

            The shifter laughs, catching my attention. “That eye of yours twitches when you lie.”

            Without missing a beat, Arthur replies, “My eye twitches all the time,” before landing a punch to the shifter’s jaw.

            The monster reels back, changing before our eyes, only this time…it’s Arthur’s face it wears.

            “Well, I guess I know all about you.”

 

* * *

 

 

I lean against the wall, checking the notifications on my phone. Dean called while I was in the room with Ketch, but I didn’t dare answer it.

            “ _Hey sis, just uh…I messed up. I’m sorry about what I said, I hope you don’t hate my guts too much. You can make your own decisions. But uh…I’m worried. Just call me back when you can. Maybe swing by one day and visit, if you’re not too busy._ ” There’s a long pause. “ _Bye._ ”

            I take a deep breath, staring at my phone screen. It took him three days. Three days to call and apologize.

            It’s a new record for him, I think.

            I’m teasing.

**> Hey. Got your voicemail. I’ll call you back later.**

**> Oh, and I don’t hate your guts**

I smile softly as I hit send, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. I’m alone for now, which is different. Ketch said he had to make some phone calls in his office, whatever that means.

            I push myself off the wall, deciding to go find him. And maybe eavesdrop, I haven’t decided yet. But when I hear him from down the hall, his voice quiet like he’s obviously trying to hide something, I vote for eavesdropping.

            “Well, I can’t just send him to your economy comfort, now can I?”

            I press my back against the wall, furrowing my eyebrows. Who the hell is he talking to?

            “The package is in the Armory now. We gave it a lot number.” A pause. “1-2-2-5-7, mhm. We’ll speak when you get it.”

            I hear the phone click in place when he hangs up. I wait a few seconds before rounding the corner, offering my best smile his way.

            He stands from the desk, walking around to greet me by pressing a kiss to my lips. I hold onto his arms and try not to remember how he acted earlier.

            He was under pressure to get answers. He pulls back, smiling gently when our noses brush. He seems to have calmed down now. But he still seems different. I let one of my hands drift up to hold his face, earning a strange look from him. But I brush it off with another smile.

            “You seem off, that’s all,” I murmur. “Everything okay?”

            He takes a deep breath, grabbing my hand to lace his fingers with mine. “Everything’s alright now.”

            I hold back a grin. He’s okay. “What else do you have to do today?”

            “Oh, a few meetings,” he replies. “But I have an hour or two before…” He leans forward and presses another kiss to my lips.

            I start laughing without being able to help it, my hands almost instinctively moving to his tie. “Is an hour enough time?”

            His eyes widen with that mischievous glint. “Is it?”

            I tug on his tie, my nose brushing against his. “We’ll see.”


	23. who are you trying to convince there, love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I have to say is that I told you this was not going to be pretty. Feel free to hate Ketch a lot after this chapter.

While Arthur is in his last meeting, I make the time to return Dean’s calls.

            Typical Dean, though, he doesn’t pick up when I call. They must be on a hunt somewhere, or finding Kelly, knowing them. I’m sure it’s important, whatever it is.

            I still decide to leave him a voicemail.

            “Hey Dean,” I pause, leaning back against the railing outside on of the blocks. “This is me returning your call like I promised, and you not answering like the ass you are,” I chuckle. “I’m kidding, but I…I miss you guys. And I accept your apology. I’ll swing by tomorrow and we can talk about this – and everything, I guess.” We – as a family – have never been good at these types of mushy situations. “Just call me back whenever. See you soon.” I pause. “Love you.” And hang up.

            That’s enough of that.

            I glance at the time, seeing that Arthur still has about a few minutes left in his meeting. And, coincidentally, the Armory is calling my name.

            The damn package has been plaguing my brain ever since I heard him on the phone. What the hell is so special in there that it has to be in the Armory, and flown back to England?

            I don’t know, but since I can go wherever I need to, I’m going to go find out for myself.

            I make my way down the hall, taking a right into the Armory. It’s dark, thankfully, meaning I am alone. I flip the switch and shut the door behind me, listening as it locks.

            My eyes scan the walls of weaponry, moving to the floor to look for a package. There’s black boxes up against the wall toward the back, but one particularly large one catches my eye.

            Slowly, I step closer, reading the label. 12257.

            That’s the one.

            I glance behind me for good measure, finding no one. I take a deep breath, lifting the lid on the package.

            And in a matter of seconds, I wish I had left it alone.

            Tears spring to my eyes, the lid nearly slipping out of my hands as I stare down at Mick.

            Mick’s dead. All this time.

            Ketch said Mick was in London.

            That lying bastard.

            I close the lid and lock it, turning on my heels and practically sprinting out of the room. I need to get back to the bunker – _now_. Regardless of if my brothers are there or on a hunt, I need to get out of here.

            I’m nearly running but trying to slow it to a speed-walk as I race through the halls, a few people passing me and nodding their heads. Being associated with Ketch around here has its perks, but right now they make me feel sick to my stomach.

            As I’m rounding the corner, so is Ketch.

            I immediately reel back, this time actually running in the other direction as I search for an open room. I take a turn down a hall I rarely go to, finding myself among rooms I’ve never seen before.

            Without thinking, I place my hand on one of the scanners.

            _Access Denied_.

            Denied? What the hell do you mean _denied_?

            I turn around, trying the room adjacent to it, but still nothing. I nearly groan out loud. I’m running out of options. And it’s looking more and more like I’m not supposed to be on this hallway in the first place.

            Behind me, I hear the door unlock, followed by footsteps. Thinking quickly, I spin around and bolt inside, just before the door closes.

            When it does, and locks behind me, I let out a sigh of relief.

            Disaster avoided, for now. But now that I’m alone, I need to call Dean – or Sam, one of them, whichever will answer.

            As I turn to grab my phone from my pocket, I spot something else that causes my heart to drop into my stomach.

            Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex…what are they doing up there?

            The pictures rotate.

            A gasp leaves my lips. Now it’s Dean, then Sam, then…me.

            The heartbeat thunders loudly in my ears as I take a step closer. One of the screens is labeled _BUNKER_.

            I think I’m going to throw up.

            I click on one of the rectangles, flinching as my brothers’ voices fill the room.

            “ _I don’t know, Dean, if she trusts them, maybe we should. Maybe—_ ” I tap it again, silencing the audio.

            I bring my phone out of my pocket with shaking hands, dialing Dean’s number. He doesn’t pick up, dammit, so I leave a voicemail.

            “When you get this, call me. We’ve got a big problem.” I end the message there, not knowing what else to say.

            I need to get out of here. That’s all I can think. I have to get out of here.

            I stuff my phone back in my pocket, shaking my head because I can’t kick myself right now. I will later.

            I’m so damn stupid.

            I yank the door open—

            “Joy,” Ketch mutters, smirking as he pushes his way into the room, causing me to back up. “Your handprint doesn’t open this room because it’s not for you.”

            I hear the door close behind him, my anger somehow flying to the front of my senses. “What the hell is going on here?” I gesture to the screens. “Do you have microphones everywhere? The bunker? The rooms here? _Our suite_?”

            “Joy—”

            “I can’t believe you.”

            For a fraction of a second, it almost looks like he’s hurt by the venom in my words. But I can’t be bothered to care right now.

            “Oh, and the fucking _package_ in the Amory? Mick?” I want to punch him. Clock him right across the jaw. Make him feel the stabbing pain I have in my chest right now. “You told me he was in London. What the hell is wrong with you?”

            “It was an…unfortunate werewolf mishap.”

            “Don’t give me that bullshit,” I snap. “The truth, Ketch. I want the truth. Right now.”

            He’s quiet.

            No…they were friends. Or I thought they were.

            “Did you kill him?”

            “Mick was weak,” he nearly screams. “He wasn’t one of us.”

            “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

            He studies my face, reminding me of the day we first met. When he wasn’t sure how to handle me. And now I’m slipping away, realizing he’s nothing but a lying bastard, and he doesn’t know what to do.

            I raise my eyebrows. “Well?”

            He takes a deep breath. “Mr. Davies foolishly allowed Eileen Leahy to live after she killed Mr. Rawlins.” He merely shrugs. “He violated the Code and proved disobedient. I did what I was told.”

            “That doesn’t make it right!” I cry, my hands flying into the air in disbelief. “You’re kidding!”

            “It’s the law,” he says seriously.

            “And I bet your conscience has blood all over it because of that stupid law, doesn’t it?”

            I’m shocked when he laughs, but it’s not his laugh. Not the one I can pull out of him during the night. This one is dark.

            “I don’t need a conscience. Such a trite idea, but we firmly believe the ends do justify the means.”

            “Killing your friend was justifiable?”

            “I had my reasons.”

            “No, Ketch, you didn’t.” I shake my head. “You were _given_ reasons. You didn’t have any. Not a damn one.”

            The silence that follows my words hangs heavy in the air around us. We’re in a standoff. Neither one of us knowing who will make the next move.

            All I can think is that I am tired. So damn tired. I trusted him. Hell, I trusted all of them. I thought maybe—just _maybe_ they were the good guys. That I could trust my gut. That I could prove myself and not be the same disappointment I was seven years ago, but I guess—I guess I was wrong once again. About all of it.

            I lift my eyes from the floor to meet his. I watch as he takes a step closer to me. I can’t help the tears that are threatening to fill my eyes.

            “Was this all a game?”

            He stops. “Pardon?”

            “All of this,” I gesture between us, trying not to choke out some pathetic laughter. “Us. It was all part of a plan, wasn’t it?” I’m so damn stupid. How could I be this stupid.

            “Us,” he pauses, the words catching in his throat. I stare at him. He’s not and never will be a relationship man. I don’t know why I tried so hard to believe he was. I should have known from the moment I met him that this couldn’t work.

            I wipe the stray tear that managed its way out of my eye, shaking my head. “Don’t say anything.”

            “What we have is real.”

            I respond without thinking. “How am I supposed to believe you?”

            He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he says, “Come here.”

            But I shake my head. “No, I don’t wanna be anywhere near you.” And I mean it. I can’t stand to even look at him, let alone try to let him hold me right now.

            I want someone to hold me. I want this to be over. I don’t know how it can be now, but I want it to. I just don’t know if that’s in my future.

            I see the screens rotate, and instinctively, I glance over.

            Nausea. That’s all I can think. And feel.

            Eileen Leahy. _Terminated by Arthur Ketch_.

            Somehow, all of the rage I had been holding back comes boiling over. The tears flow down my cheeks like hot water from a faucet and all I can think about is—

            I don’t know. I’m numb. How could he do this?

            I look at Ketch, finding him a step closer than I want him to be. But close enough that I can deck him.

            So I do.

            Or, I try to. His hand wraps around my wrist before my knuckles can connect with his cheekbone. I glare at him, suddenly wishing that looks had the power to kill.

            “That was my best friend, you asshole,” I growl, my other hand swinging around and clocking him right in the jaw.

            He groans in pain, his grip loosening on my other wrist just enough for me to yank it away, putting some distance between us again. Which is what I should’ve done in the first place. On that first night we met. I should have kicked him out. Kicked his ass right then and there.

            “I’m sorry, about your friend—”

            I want to slap him. “Don’t you dare talk about her like you give a damn.”

            “I had my orders. The Code—”

            “You can shove _The Code_ up your goddamn ass for all I care,” I mutter, backing away from him. “You’re a monster. Do you have any idea what they’ve turned you into?”

            “Contrary to what you may believe, I am not the villain,” he groans again, setting his jaw. “I am a soldier. I do what I am told.”

            “That doesn’t make it right! Fuck!” I want to rip my hair out. He’s insanely frustrating. “Soldiers fight back all the damn time! Or are you too much of a coward to do that?”

            I can tell I have immediately struck a chord within him at that comment. He straightens his shoulders, his face hardening. For a moment, it looks like he might shoot me.

            But he won’t. He’s wrapped around my finger just as much as I am his. He won’t shoot me. He can barely bring himself to hurt me.

            He takes a few steps closer, his hands remaining down at his sides. He’s not making any move to grab his gun from his waistband, but he is getting closer. So much so that I don’t have much choice of where I can go.

            “You don’t scare me.”

            He smirks. “Who are you trying to convince there, love?”

            I clench my jaw. “No one.”

            He quirks an eyebrow, keeping a steady pace as he steps forward. “I think you and I both know that is not the truth.”

            “Shut up.”

            He ignores me. “You talk of me being a monster for following orders,” he pauses, stopping his movements for one second. “Does that make your brothers monsters as well? Blindly following John’s orders, never questioning—”

            “That’s different.”

            “Is it?”

            “I never knew my father, okay? So I don’t know. And you can try and use those tactics on me, talking about family like you think it matters to me. It doesn’t change what you’ve done. Or how I feel.”

            “And how do you feel?”

            I grin. “Like I don’t give a shit. About your code. Or you.”

            It takes me a moment to realize how close he has stepped into my personal space. How his feet are knocking against mine as he backs me into the wall. I feel the fear gripping my soul.

            “Oh, love…you and I both know that is not true.”

            I feel his lips on mine before I can register what is happening. I feel his hands squeezing my hips, teasing. His lips soft against mine, coaxing me open for him. He knows me inside and out, the bastard. He knows my weak points.

            I feel myself threading my fingers through his hair, tugging without realizing. Losing myself without meaning to.

            “Mmphno,” I press both my hands against his chest, shaking my head as I push him away. “You don’t get to do that.”

            “I’m only proving a point,” he says quietly, his hands still on my waist. “It’s the end for the American Hunters, but I can keep you safe. I can protect you—”

            “I don’t need protecting,” I blurt. It’s weak. Damn him, damn him to all hell for this.

            “I think you do,” he murmurs, his hand cupping my cheek. I hate myself for letting my eyes flutter closed. “I think you want to feel protected. Loved. Things your brothers are incapable of fulfilling.”

            My eyes snap open almost immediately. “Don’t talk about them.”

            “I wouldn’t have to if you would just understand,” he pauses to breathe, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I can give you what you need.”

            “I need you to get away from me.”

            He lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

            “Of course you can’t,” I mutter, letting my eyes meet his. “I can’t ever look at you the same.”

            “I can keep you safe,” he repeats, this time moving closer, pressing his body against mine. And I hate that I respond almost instantly. “I will never hurt you.”

            I choke out a weak laugh. “But if I try to leave—”

            “I can’t let you.”

            “Ketch…”

            He shushes me, his thumb brushing over the skin beneath my eye. “It will be okay, love.”

            “How?”

            “I promise…”

            I’m supposed to hate him. I know I am. He killed Eileen. And Mick. And probably so many others that he isn’t telling me about.

            But I can feel the good inside of him. I can feel it when he cradles my face. When his nose brushes against mine as he pulls back for only a fraction of a second.

            He’s always been intoxicating. Since the day that I met him, I haven’t been able to resist him. I don’t know why I was foolish enough to believe this was different.

            I feel it when he seems to be focusing on something else. His lips moving against mine, but letting me take control. I break the kiss, studying his face as he pulls back and watches me.

            A gasp leaves my lips when I feel something sharp pressing into my arm.

            Slow…everything is slow.

            I blink as Ketch lays the syringe on the desk next to us, its contents now running rampant through my veins. It’s so cold—

            “Don’t fight it, love,” he whispers. I feel his arm wrapping around my waist, helping to guide me to the floor. I don’t have a single ounce of strength in my body to fight him. “It’s going to be all right.”

            I swallow thickly, listening as his footsteps echo toward the door. I hear him say something about…about a doctor.

            And then he’s back at my side. Brushing hair out of my face, cradling my cheek.

            “Rest, love.”

            My eyes close without hesitation.


	24. the pleasure was all mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joy wakes without remembering, well, anything.
> 
> She is now a different Joy. The Joy who was caught by a Djinn all those years ago, only this time, Arthur Ketch saved her. This is where this Joy's story begins.

The first thing I feel when I wake is pain. Pain in my head, for the most part. I have a raging headache.

            I manage to push myself up on my elbows, my eyes refusing to open because of the bright light in the ceiling blaring down on me.

            I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mm, _god_ —”

            As if he himself heard my prayers, the light in the room shuts off. My eyes are able to open now, glancing around the now dimly lit room. It’s not god, though, it’s a doctor.

            She has a smile on her face, her hand falling down from the light switch and resting at her side. The light has lessened my headache a great deal, but the throbbing pain is still persistent on my forehead.

            A noticeably harsh pain shoots through my eyes, causing me to fall back on the bed, both hands covering my forehead.

            I hear the rush of the doctor’s footsteps over to the side of my bed.

            “Is everything alright?”

            “Does it look like it?” I groan. “God, that was rude. Do you have any painkillers?” I pause to chuckle. “Or whiskey? I feel like I’ve got one hell of a hangover.”

            “Your solution to a hangover is more alcohol?”

            My eyes widen. “You’re British. Am I in England again?”

            She shakes her head, adjusting one last thing on the machine next to me before pressing and holding a button. She turns to me, grabbing my right hand and checking the port.

            There’s an IV. In my hand.

            “The pain medication should begin to help soon,” she pauses, letting go of my hand. “My name is Dr. Paige. You’re at the British Men of Letters compound—”

            I tilt my head. “I thought the Men of Letters was a myth?”

            She smiles. “That is how most people see us, but I assure you, we are not a myth.” She moves to the sink off to the side, beginning to wash her hands. “And thank goodness, too. If Mr. Ketch had not found you when he did, you might not be here.”

            Ketch… Why does that name sound so familiar? “Can I see him?” I blurt, blinking slowly.

            Dr. Paige studies my face. “When you wake. You need rest. But when you wake, remind me and I will have him pay you a visit.”

            I nod, my head falling back on the pillow. The throbbing is gone, now replaced with overwhelming drowsiness that is no doubt brought on by the pain killers.

            Just before I drift completely off, I feel the name surface fully: Arthur Ketch.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time I wake, it is to Dr. Paige at the machine by my bedside.

            She smiles apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

            “S’okay,” I yawn. “How long did I sleep?”

            She glances at her watch. “Around three hours. Are you feeling better?”

            “The headache is gone,” I reply, stretching my arms out next to me, since the IV prevents most of my movement. “Mr. Ketch’s first name wouldn’t happen to be Arthur, would it?”

            She turns to look at me with a strange expression. “As a matter of fact, yes. Arthur Ketch. He’s one of our best hunters.”

            “How did he find me?”

            She finishes checking something else on the machine. “Your vitals are looking extremely well. I believe we can take this out now.” She grabs my hand, beginning to peel the tape from around the tube.

            I wince slightly at the tape tugging on the sensitive skin around the IV. I may be a hunter, but needles still make me squeamish, so I look away as she pulls the needle from my hand. She presses a piece of gauze down where the needle was, pulling a piece of lighter adhesive tape over top of it to keep it stable.

            “I’ll have someone bring in your clothes,” she pauses. “I hope you don’t mind, Ketch went through the trunk of your car to get to your bag. We don’t typically take in injured hunters here, so we don’t have proper clothes—”

            I wave my hand to dismiss her rambling. “It’s fine,” I pause, smiling a little at the memory of Ketch that I do have. “We’re…old friends, I guess you could say. No worries. And hey, you guys saved my life from the sounds of it. I think I can get over Ketch going through my car.”

            She smiles in relief. “Well, I will have someone bring in your clothes and I’ll send Mr. Ketch in as well.”

            “Thank you,” I return the smile.

            I lay back on the pillows as she exits the room, leaving the lights dimmed – bless her.

            Just a few moments later, there is a knock on the door before someone else enters, this time with my bag of clothes in their hand. She places it down on the end of my bed, smiling as she leaves the room without a word.

            I sit up slowly, bringing the bag closer to me. I find a pair of jeans, bra, black t-shirt, and red flannel, folding the articles of clothing over my arm. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, taking my time as I stand and make my way over to the door off to the side.

            True to my suspicions, it is a bathroom. I push the door open, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me.

            Now dressed and feeling much better after a quick shower, I come back out into the room, my gown over my arm this time. I place it down on the pillows, moving to my bag to look for a pair of socks.

            My combat boots are under the bed, I saw them when I was walking out of the bathroom. Once I find a pair of socks, I sit down on the edge of the bed and begin tugging the socks and my boots on.

            In the midst of this, there is another knock on the door. As before, it opens a second later, this time revealing Dr. Paige.

            She smiles softly. “I just wanted to be sure your clothes made it to you. Has Mr. Ketch stopped by?”

            “Not yet,” I reply.

            She nods. “I’ll go let him know you would like to see him.”

            “Thanks.”

            She exits the room, the door shutting behind her.

            I pull my bag off to the floor, tossing my gown on top of it before stretching back out, my head against the pillows. I close my eyes, relishing in the feeling. I haven’t slept in this comfortable of a bed in a long while – and this is a _hospital_ bed. Or, a medical bed. From the sounds of it, I’m not exactly in a hospital type place.

            The next time the door opens, it is without a knock beforehand, and that is how before I even open my eyes, I know it is Arthur Ketch.

            “Did you forget how to knock since the last time I saw you?”

            His stunned silence is enough.

            I open my eyes; the breath nearly being knocked out of my lungs. I’ve never told him this suit is my favorite, but he’s wearing it now and the smirk that is coming with it makes me believe it is on purpose.

            I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing slowly to be careful of the light headedness that I am still suffering from.

            And in true Arthur Ketch fashion, he is by my side, one hand resting on my arm as I steady myself.

            I breathe through a smile. “I was told you saved my ass.”

            A ghost of a smile echoes across his lips. “I was hunting a Djinn,” he nods. “And I’m afraid I saved more of your ass.”

            “Yeah, yeah, I know. My life.” I pause, my breath hitching when I see just how close our faces are. “Thank you,” I murmur.

            Something stirs in my stomach when I see his eyes struggling to stay focused on mine. “The pleasure was all mine.”

            He must realize how close we are in that moment, because he takes a deep breath, taking a single step back. I lick my lips, turning my head away. I move around, putting my body facing his, but with some more space between us.

            “So,” I cross my arms over my chest. “You never told me you were part of the _British_ Men of Letters.”

            “Apologies. That information normally doesn’t make the cut for…first date conversations.”

            That causes a laugh to bubble out of my chest. “Just because you bought me a drink does not make that a first date.”

            He nods. “Fair. But does breakfast the next morning count?”

            I smirk. “Depends. You did skip town after that, remember?”

            “If I knew you were—”

            “I said I had it covered,” I interrupt him. “So that’s my fault. But thank you, anyway, for saving me.”

            He clasps his hands together in front of him, a small smile crawling onto his lips once more. “As I said, the pleasure was all mine.”

            “Well,” I breathe. “I think the least I can let you do is give me the grand tour.”

            “I would be delighted.”


	25. no one knows where she is.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean go searching through the hotel room Ketch had booked for him and Joy, but they find nothing. As in, only a few of Joy's clothes are there and it appears as if no one has stepped foot in this room for days. Then, they hear of another Hunter death: Eileen Leahy. All of this adds up to bring them to believe the Brits really are not who they say they are. And that Joy is very much in danger.

“Joy?” Dean tries not to shout, but the panic in him has been at a fever pitch ever since he heard the voicemail his little sister left.

            Sam and Dean search the room, finding nothing but some of Joy’s clothes in a dresser and a freshly made bed, most likely courtesy of the cleaning staff.

            “Well, looks like she hasn’t been here in a while.”

            Sam’s eyebrows furrow. “Yeah…did she say she was going to stay on the base permanently or…?”

            “No, I told you what she said,” Dean replies. “She said, ‘Call me, we’ve got a big problem.’ And then that was it. She didn’t sound happy.” He pauses, muttering, “Or safe.”

            “Well, when she’s not here she’s probably at the base, so maybe—”

            “Well, dude, I’ve called Mick like six times. He’s been radio silent ever since they sent him to London.” Dean sighs, knowing his only other option is the man Joy has been dating. Ketch is bound to know where she is. “Ketch, calling to see is my sister is with you…It’s Dean. Winchester. Because I’d like to speak to her, that’s why. No, I’m not being terse. Look, if you haven’t seen her, do you know where she is? The two of you are attached at the hip anyway. No, I’m not being curt either. Look, I don’t have time for Manners 101 from you, okay? If she’s with you, I wanna know about it. Fine.” He promptly ends the call, shaking his head. “ _Such_ a dick.”

            “And?”

            “He swears he hasn’t seen Joy in over a week. Said she got mad at him and took some time away.”

            “But if Joy left for a week, she would’ve told us. Right?”

            “If he made her mad enough to run off, I’m sure the first place she’d go is the bunker.”

            “So…”

            “He’s lying,” Dean clarifies. “There’s no way she’s not with him somewhere. Even if she did leave, where would she go? Jody’s?”

            “Jody would’ve called us.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Great—” Their conversation is interrupted by Sam’s phone ringing. He looks at the screen, chuckling. “Speak of the devil. Hey Jody.”

            “ _Hey Sam._ ” She replies, but she also sounds far from happy.

            “Hey, real quick, have you seen Joy?”

            “ _Not recently, why?_ ”

            Sam shakes his head to relay the message to Dean. “Just wondering. What’s up with you?”

            “ _Have you heard?_ ”

            “No, what?”

            “ _An Eileen Leahy…she was found dead._ ”

            “No. Uh…” Sam breathes. “No, we hadn’t heard. When? What the hell happened? Oh, no. No. I-I…Yeah. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.” Sam ends the call, unable to do anything but stare at his phone.

            “Who?” Dean asks immediately, his concern clearly showing as his brother looks to be near tears.

            “Eileen.”

            Dean closes his eyes. “How?”

            “She was, uh, mauled by a wild animal. In a wooded area that doesn’t have animals that do that. In South Carolina.”

            “I thought she was in Ireland?”

            Sam throws his hand in the air for an answer, not knowing what else to say as he turns away from his brother. That was the last piece of news he ever expected to hear today…or ever.

            “Sam.”

            “Dean, that’s the second Hunter death we’ve heard about in two weeks.”

            “I know. But two doesn’t make mean a pattern.”

            “Three would.”

            Dean furrows his eyebrows. “Meaning?”

            “Joy is a Hunter.”

            “Not anymore.”

            “But she was. And no one knows where she is.”

 

* * *

 

 

The boys race to South Carolina to check out Eileen’s death. All that they find is that a Hellhound killed Eileen. But that makes no sense.

            They call up Crowley. He’s an asshole about it as always. Swears he has no idea about any missing Hellhounds, nor of an Eileen Leahy. And then says he knows Hunters are dying, and he doesn’t care about it one bit.

            At the Post Office, Dean says words that only further break Sam’s heart.

            “We got a letter. From Eileen.”

            “Eileen?”

            “She sent it four days ago. It went snail mail because she thought that her phone _and_ her computer were both hacked. She left Ireland because she was scared.”

            “Scared of what?”

            “Well, after she accidentally killed that – that Brit douche Renny, she thought that the British Men of Letters were on her.” Dean hands Sam the letter then, letting him read it over.

            Sam feels the tears stinging his eyes. “ _I know they’re following me, watching me. They tapped my phone. I found a microphone in my room._ ” He takes a deep breath. “ _I hate to be all girly, but could I bunk with you guys for a few days until I sort this out? I’ll keep Joy company_.”

            “You think the Brits were watching her?” Dean asks.

            “If Eileen says they were—”

            “Then maybe they’re the ones that killed her.”

            Sam doesn’t want to admit that he knows Dean is right. But as soon as they return to the bunker, they search for microphones.

            And they find one. Right under the table in the map room.


	26. i don't know who you are.

I wander the halls aimlessly, the familiarity of them coming back to me quicker than I expected. I can remember coming here before, but the Djinn must have really messed with my mind and made it seem like it was much longer ago than last week when Ketch said I was here for the first time.

            He also told me we have…history, so to speak. Which makes perfect sense. The dream I had last night of us having breakfast together seemed far too real to be another fantasy my mind made up. The almost-kiss in my room when I first woke up had me skeptical, but he told me he was afraid I didn’t remember anything from before. Or that the Djinn had twisted everything around.

            The Djinn did twist things. They always do. That’s their thing. I had brothers in my dream. A family. A loving boyfriend. Things I’ve never had in real life – nor do I want them. Ketch and I have history, sure, but he’s no loving boyfriend. That’s not his thing. And it’s not mine.

            I nearly run right into Ketch, speak of the devil, because as usual I am not paying attention to where I’m walking. But he just blows right past me, apparently not in the mood for anything.

            I know him better than that, though.

            “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, turning around to follow him down the hallway.

            “They took Lady Bevell,” he replies, sounding as pissed off as ever.

            The name rings a bell, though. “Toni? I thought you hated her.”

            He presses his hand against the screen outside the Armory. “She’s still a Men of Letters. And fortunately, this gives us a clear shot at ridding the world of the Winchesters.”

            The name rolls off his tongue so effortlessly I could almost assume he was friends with them at some point. “And why does the world need to be rid of them again?”

            “They’re killers, Joy.”

            “Aren’t you?” The look he gives me is lethal. “Whatever. Do you need my help or can I go?”

            “Actually,” he pauses, tossing me a gun. “I could use your help.”

            I smirk, cocking the gun. “That’s what I thought.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So we’re clear? You call Ketch, tell him if he wants to see you alive, he gets his prissy ass over here.”

            I smirk, trying to muffle my laughter. Come on, that was good.

            “Interestingly, his prissy ass is already here.” Ketch’s tone reminds me immediately though that this is serious, and I return to my stance. “Lady Bevell, would you mind disarming them?”

            Less than five seconds later, gun shots echo throughout the bunker.

            I told him that wasn’t a good plan.

            I stay behind the wall, waiting. I don’t know why he didn’t want me in the middle of this, but judging by the sounds of it, he doesn’t seem to be doing too well.

            “Get up.”

            “Alright Ketch, how many more guys are in here?”

            Are they idiots? The whole place is surrounded.

            “Our sister. Where is she?”

            I roll my eyes. Sounds like he has his hands full. Must be my cue.

            I cock my gun, making my way up the steps to the main area. “Don’t move,” I yell. Ketch owes me a cheeseburger after this. One of the men with guns moves, looking straight at me.

            “Joy?”

            “I said don’t move!” I shout. “How do you know my name?”

            “You’re kidding—”

            “Put the gun down. And answer the question.” When he makes no effort to move, I fire one off right next to the wall where he’s standing. “I said put the gun down. I won’t ask again.”

            I disarm the one holding Lady Bevell, tossing the gun down on the table. The other who was holding Ketch follows suit, letting go of Ketch who immediately moves by my side with his gun raised.

            “Now. How do you know my name? Hands where I can see them.”

            They both raise their hands, looking oddly familiar as they do.

            The taller one speaks. “You’re…you’re our sister.”

            I laugh loudly. “That’s a new one. For a second I thought you were going to say I was an old lover. Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m an only child. And I have no clue who the hell you two are. So what’s your next answer?”

            “Joy…your name is Joy Winchester. You were—”

            “My name is Joy…” I pause, not remembering anything else. I hate Djinns. “I will give you that. But that last name doesn’t belong to me.”

            “What did you do to her?”

            “Oh, nothing. Why?” Lady Bevell answers. “This is Joy, is it not?” She smiles at me. “Nice to see you again.”

            I return the smile, but the rest of Ketch’s plan has me not wanting to show her too much civility. I don’t know her well, all I know is she is a bit of a nutcase (but who isn’t?), and Ketch plans to leave her here. I didn’t question him.

            “It’s time to go, Joy,” Ketch finally says, ushering me back toward the spiral stairs.

            As I take my first step, I feel like I’ve walked them before.

            Again, I hate Djinns. Because there’s no way I could have walked these before if this is the first time I have ever stepped foot in this building.

            I make my way up the stairs, Ketch following behind me as he talks. “The American Hunters are…a dying breed.”

            He told me this in the car. Those who refuse to cooperate and help rid the world of monsters are being eliminated. With good reason, I suppose. As Hunters, our job is to want to rid the world of monsters. And if we don’t want to, then we’re not really Hunters. We can’t be.

            “Oh, for Heaven’s sake where do you think you’re going?”

            I sigh.

            “ _Ketch_.”

            “Remember at Kendricks, how they taught us that we were all expendable?” I sigh, not wanting to hear him tell her she’s basically dying tonight. “That wasn’t idle chat.”

            “Joy!”

            I turn around, aiming my gun at whoever spoke. It’s the shorter brother. Not by much, but he is shorter.

            “Look at me. It’s us. Your family. _Please_.”

            “I told you,” I try not to show much emotion. “I don’t know who you are. I’m sorry.” This is sad, sadder than I expected it to feel. But sometimes what is right and has to be done isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes the right thing to do hurts.

            “Your bunker is an excellent fortress,” Ketch smirks. “An even better tomb. So, we’ve rejiggered the locks, we’ve shut off the water, and once we leave, the pumps that bring in the air, shall reverse.”

            I still want to ask why we aren’t shooting them here and now. Why it has to be drug out.

            “Your oxygen should be gone in two days, maybe three.” He pauses, smiling. “You dying in here…it’s almost poetic, hm?”

            I lower my weapon, nudging his arm. “That’s enough,” I murmur.

            He gives me a look before nodding, turning and heading for the door.

            As soon as the door closes, I shove his shoulder roughly.

            “What the hell was that?”

            “What was what?”

            “The poetic speech?” I scoff, stopping by his Bentley. “As if this isn’t hard enough for them, you fill it with snark.”

            “Are you saying I was wrong?”

            “No, I’m calling you an ass,” I smirk. “But what else is new?”

            My comment has him dissolving into a laugh as he unlocks the Bentley, opening the door for me. “I have missed your attitude.”


	27. you're not you right now.

The next few days have hardly felt normal.

            Ketch walks around the compound, talking to Dr. Hess like he is so overly heartbroken that Lady Bevell was “lost” on our mission to the Winchester’s bunker. He claims the tall one had a grudge – Sam. When all along it has been Ketch.

            I’m not an idiot. I know Ketch and Toni used to have something. And I also know they were up for the same position here at the compound. Like I said, it doesn’t take an idiot to put the pieces together on that one.

            Ketch has also been overly insistent on keeping me here at the compound. At first, I thought it was sweet. I would mention leaving, and he would immediately turn around and ask for my help on something, claiming he needs my intelligence to do it. It was sweet because he used to make such a scene out of asking me for help. But now he was doing it because it appeared as though he didn’t want to make a scene, he just genuinely wanted help and was no longer afraid to ask for it.

            But then it was simpler tasks. Like identifying a creature. Or making hunting plans. Stupid things that I know he is better at, all the way. Or things that I know for sure he is capable of completing on his own because he has before.

            So I have to be sneaky. All I want is to go see Jody. I just want to let her know I’m okay, that’s all. But Ketch is so overbearing you’d think I told him I was going to leave forever.

            After he enters a meeting, I make my way back to my room, acting like I’m going to rest for a minute. But what I really do is take a right at the end of the hall and grab the keys to his Bentley from his room.

            I smile as the engine purrs to life, immediately grimacing at the smooth jazz music coming through the speakers. That’s the first thing I shut off.

            I back out of the garage and exit the compound, thankfully getting past all the guards and gates. It’s smooth sailing from here.

 

* * *

 

Jody’s place feels farther than I remember, but I drive without thinking about it too much. I can’t find my phone anywhere, which is annoying, but I assume I lost it in the midst of fighting with the Djinn. I don’t feel too bad about not calling ahead, though. I’m practically a daughter to her.

            By the time I pull into her driveway, it’s almost two in the afternoon.

            I knock on her door after finding that it’s locked, waiting patiently. It looks like she’s painted since I’ve been here last.

            The door opens, revealing Jody who looks incredibly relieved to see me. I don’t get a single word in before she’s pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug.

            “Your brothers have been so worried!” She rubs my back furiously, pushing away from the hug to look into my eyes. My confusion must be evident. “Joy?”

            “Brothers?” I ask.

            She pulls me into the house, sitting me down on the couch. She sits next to me in her reclining chair, still close enough to rest a soothing hand on my leg.

            “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

            I give her another strange look. “Are you talking about Sam and Dean? They said I was their sister the other day, but I don’t…”

            “They’ve been worried sick about you,” Jody replies, still not sure of how to handle this.

            “They’re alive?” I blurt. That’s impossible. The spells and everything Ketch put on that bunker were the harshest I’ve ever seen.

            She blinks. “They’re…alive. They’ve been calling every day. I’ve been looking for you since last week, Joy,” she pauses. “What happened?”

            “I don’t know what’s going on, I—I was attacked by a Djinn and um, Arthur Ketch saved me. Brought me back to the British Men of Letters compound and—I’ve been trying to leave for the past couple days, but only managed to sneak out today and come see you and—” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I keep dreaming. About Sam and Dean.” I shake my head. “I’m an only child, Jody, you…you helped raise me. I don’t know where these Sam and Dean guys are coming from, but…every time I dream about them I just…I don’t know.”

            By the time I look back to her, she looks like she’s seen a ghost. Or worse.

            She pats my leg. “Let me give them a call and let them know you’re okay. How about you go take a shower?”

            I run my fingers through my hair. “That obvious, huh?”

            She smiles knowingly. “Showers have always helped you think.” She pats my leg one last time before standing, heading into the kitchen.

            I take her advice and get in the shower. I find some of my old clothes in the closet, grabbing a new flannel and a pair of jeans.

            I wash my hair and my body, but nothing feels clean anymore. Nothing feels right anymore. There’s something missing. My damn guilty conscience has me thinking about Sam and Dean, feeling bad that I helped Ketch lock them in that bunker…to die. I left them there to die. And they seem to care about me so much. For what reason? I can only think that I must have helped them in a hunt or something, but I would have remembered them clearly. Not in such a haze that I do right now. Like I knew them much deeper than as hunters. But I don’t know why.

            I step out of the shower and change into my new clothes, putting my hair up in a towel. I stare at myself in the mirror, rubbing my hands across my face.

            I don’t even recognize myself.

            I seriously need a drink. Or something.

            Thankfully, Jody has beer in the fridge. I grab one of them, popping the cap off with my teeth. I’m halfway through my second one by the time she comes back inside from calling Sam and Dean.

            I don’t trust Ketch, not anymore. After he kept essentially trying to keep me locked down the past couple days, I’m growing more and more wary of the guy.

            “Sam and Dean should be here any minute. They were already on the way when I called.”

            I nod, downing the rest of that beer. I place the second bottle next to the first, reaching toward the fridge. My hand is blocked before I can get there, though.

            Jody pulls me away from the counter without giving me room to protest. She motions for me to sit down at the table. She joins me a few seconds later, sliding a glass of water my way.

            “I see the love of alcohol is still in you,” she smirks. “But you don’t need to be drunk at three in the afternoon.”

            I chuckle. “Yeah…” I chew on my bottom lip. “How long have you known Sam and Dean?”

            “Joy…” She pauses, grabbing my hand and squeezing it for comfort. “I don’t know what happened to you. But Sam and Dean are your brothers. I’ve known them as long as I’ve known you, I just know you a little better. You spent three years with me from when you were twelve to when you were fifteen. But Sam and Dean are your brothers. Your name is Joy _Winchester_.”

            I blink, her words hovering in the air, but…none are registering in my brain. “I don’t…” I shake my head. “I feel like I know them. Like I helped them on a hunt, but you’re telling me they’re my brothers?” I take a deep breath. “And then, this house, I remember living here. For a long time. But it doesn’t…it doesn’t feel like a home. Like I thought it did.”

            She frowns. “I’m sorry.” She pauses, furrowing her eyebrows. “You’re saying you were caught by a Djinn?”

            I nod. “I think…that’s what they told me – the British Men of Letters.”

            Her eyes widen. “You did say that…”

            “Jody?”

            Our heads turn toward the sound.

            “Jody!”

            “In here!” She calls, looking back at me softly. “We’re going to fix this.”

            “Jody, hey, she—” Sam pauses, staring at me for a moment. “Joy, you’re—”

            “A little tipsy,” I admit, standing from the chair. “I’m apparently your sister. Nice to meet you, I guess?”

            Dean looks to Jody. “Have you filled her in?”

            “Kind of. She said she was attacked by a Djinn, and they saved her.”

            The look on Dean’s face is almost lethal. “They’ve fucking brainwashed her. Wiped her memory.” He turns to me. “How old are you?”

            I give him a strange look. “Seventeen, Jesus, are you okay?”

            His face immediately falls, along with everyone else’s. The three of them share a look that hardly seems like it has any good news within it.

            “What’s going on?” I finally ask.

            Dean nods to Sam. “Go get her out of the car.” Sam nods in return, taking the keys and going outside. Then Dean looks back at me. “You’re not seventeen. You’re twenty-three.”

            “Twenty-three?” I nearly lose my balance. “You’re not serious.”

            But all Dean does is nod. “I’m serious.”

            “Don’t you think I’d know if I was six years off!”

            “I think the problem here is you’re brainwashed!” Dean yells. “And we’re going to try to fix it, but this isn’t going to work if you can’t accept that you’re not you right now!”

            “Dean.”

            “What?” He snaps.

            Jody raises her eyebrows. “Calm down. This isn’t going to work if you don’t calm down.”

            Instead of responding with some sarcastic remark, Dean takes a deep breath and nods, staying quiet. I take that as my cue to also keep my mouth shut.

            Sam returns a second later with a handcuffed Toni Bevell.

            “You’re supposed to be dead.”

            “And you’re supposed to be back at the compound,” Toni retorts.

            “Enough,” Sam interrupts, nudging Toni’s shoulder.

            “Alright. You said you could fix her, so…” Dean gestures toward me. “Fix her.”

            “Well, I can’t.”

            “You said you could.”

            “I _lied_ ,” Toni replies harshly. “You were about to kill me. But I can’t fix this.”

            Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “What exactly did you do?”

            Toni turns to me. “Joy. What do you remember?”

            I look to Jody for help, but all she does is urge me to answer her. “I remember waking up at the compound. They told me a Djinn had attacked me and…Arthur Ketch saved me in the nick of time. I remember meeting him before in a diner but leaving town. I…” I glance around at Jody’s home. “I remember living here…being raised here. But Jody tells me I only lived with her for three years.” I take a deep breath. “And I remember my age as seventeen, but apparently I’m twenty-three. My name is also apparently Joy Winchester,” I pause, _Winchester_ rolling off of my tongue so easily, “but I don’t remember a last name.”

            Toni gestures to me before looking at Sam and Dean. “I cannot fix an erased memory.”

            “Can you reverse it?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            Sam glances at me before turning to Toni. “Can you reverse it.”

            “I would need my equipment, and it’s all at the compound where everyone assumes I am dead—”

            “Can you. Reverse it.”

            Toni sighs. “Yes. With the right equipment, I should be able to try something to reverse it.”

            “There should be something in the bunker,” Sam offers.

            Dean nods. “I’ll take them.” He grabs Toni by the arm, taking the keys back from Sam.

            “I’d suggest you run,” Toni says, shaking herself out of Dean’s grip. “This will not stop. The Men of Letters are going to hunt you down and kill you.”

            “Not if we kill them first,” Sam replies with a tight smile. “Jody is it okay if we get everyone here first?”

            She nods. “I’ll start making calls.” She pauses, glancing at me sadly. “Go with Dean. We’re going to fix this.”

            I take a deep breath and nod, giving her one last hug before I head out with Dean and Toni Bevell…who can supposedly fix whatever is happening in my brain.


	28. i thought he was a better man.

The ride back to the bunker is silent.

            Dean plays his music loud enough to fill the silence that Toni and I are providing. There’s nothing to talk about when I’m supposedly not myself and Dean is supposedly my brother and Toni supposedly erased my memory, but she can also supposedly fix it, so there’s just—

            I don’t have anything _to_ say. This is all so ridiculous. If she erased my memory, how long would it take for it to come back to me? Wouldn’t it have come back when I saw Sam and Dean if they’re supposedly my brothers? Or Jody? Or Ketch, for God’s sake?

            I don’t know. None of this makes sense.

            Dean slams his hand on the radio, cutting off the music.

            I lean back in my seat. “Are you okay…?”

            “Do you really not remember anything?” He blurts out.

            I shake my head slowly, looking for something to say. “I…I remember…I don’t. I’m sorry.”

            “She won’t.”

            Dean glares at Toni in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t ask you.”

            “But I’m the one who erased her memory,” Toni snaps in return. “And she won’t remember you. Not from seeing you or hearing you. You are nothing more than a stranger to her.”

            “You know, I hate it, but she’s right.”

            Dean nearly glares at me.

            “I don’t know who you are,” I cry. “I barely recognize myself when I look in the mirror.”

            Dean doesn’t say anything.

            I heave out a sigh, leaning my head against the window. “Nothing feels right…or has felt right since I woke up. I didn’t like leaving you there in the bunker. I didn’t like leaving with Ketch. It didn’t feel right drinking with him. It didn’t feel right helping out around the compound afterward.” I lick my lips, chuckling. “You’re a stranger to me, but I think I am too.”

            I see him look at me, but I don’t move. I stay there, leaned against the door with my head on the cool window.

            I close my eyes.

 

* * *

 

_“Come on, one more.”_

_“Dean, we’ve watched three. I’ve had enough western movies to last me a lifetime.”_

_“That’s a lie and you know it. Come on.”_

_“I’m going to bed, Dean.”_

* * *

 

_“Sam! Give the book back!”_

_“You haven’t moved in days! Food, Joy, you need to eat!”_

_“I’m not hungry!”_

_“Then you’re not reading!”_

_I jump to try and reach the book, but obviously he’s too tall. Damn brothers and their freakish height._

_“Fine! I’ll eat!”_

_“Good,” Sam smiles. “We need to go grocery shopping. Load up.”_

* * *

 

_“Seriously? You—”_

_“I’m sixteen! Give me a fucking break!”_

_“I get it, you’re sixteen, but you’re a child whether you like it or not!”_

_The room around me is gray. Steel. Warded. Protected. It’s a prison._

_“You can’t keep me locked in here.”_

_“And I can’t risk you running off,” Sam replies. “So, sit tight.”_

* * *

 

_“I’m not doing this anymore.”_

_“Joy, you cannot leave—”_

_“And why not?” I nearly scream. “My whole life I’m being told what I can’t do, Cas! For once, let me_ do _something!”_

_“Joy, if you leave—”_

_“Don’t let them blame you,” I shake my head. “They will try. But tell them I did it. I wanted it.”_

_“Joy—”_

_“Goodbye, Cas. Tell them not to do anything stupid when I’m gone.”_

* * *

 

“Joy. Hey. Joy.”

            I blink slowly, opening my eyes. It’s Dean. “Hey…”

            “Hey, come on.” He puts one arm behind my back, helping me out of the car. “Toni’s already inside. You looked…upset. Nightmare?”

            I stare at him weirdly. “Something like that.”

            “Alright, come on.”

            He leads me back inside the bunker and down the stairs that Ketch and I used not that long ago. It feels even weirder to be back here after they were supposed to…they were supposed to die. I left them here…to die.

            After Toni has all of her equipment, Dean and I sit down facing one another in the library. I watch as Toni flips a bunch of switches on some machine, pressing different patches to our foreheads.

            A needle in the neck and suddenly…I’m not in the bunker anymore.

            I’m…in a motel room?

            This can’t be right.

            Why am I even here? This is…

            I shake my head, trying to look around and see what else is here. So far it’s nothing. Two motel beds that look like they’ve barely been used. Two empty pizza boxes…what looks like an empty six-pack of beer.

            “Great,” I mutter to myself.

            I’m in the middle of looking through some books when the door bursts open. And there’s…

            Sam…and Dean.

            And me.

            “I told you not to leave this room!”

            “I was just getting a drink, for Christ’s sake! I can’t stay in a damn motel room the whole time we’re on this case—”

            “You could’ve gotten hurt!”

            I – or the younger Joy, I guess, holds her arms out. “Well, in case you didn’t notice: _I’m fine_.”

            Dean looks like he wants to murder her…me. Both of us, probably. But he doesn’t. He pushes past her and fishes his phone out of his jacket.

            “Oh, what are you doing now?”

            “Calling Jody.”

            “Seriously?”

            I was whiny. Was I really that whiny?

            “Yes, seriously, because if you can’t do what you’re told, then we can’t have you with us.”

            “Just say it! I’m a burden to your life! I’m nothing more than some piss ant God decided to throw into your lives and fuck up everything in existence—”

            “Fine!” Dean shouts. “You’re a burden and sometimes I wish you were never born!”

            Silence falls over the room.

            I stand in shock, my mouth barely hanging open.

            I – younger me runs out of the room, Sam following behind her after giving Dean a glare that would haunt him for weeks.

            Dean just looks pissed. But not at all regretful.

            Did he really say that to me?

            I blink. I’m somewhere else.

            A home.

            Jody’s house.

            But Toni and Dean are nowhere to be found. This doesn’t make any sense anymore. Now I’m just reliving memories of my supposed brothers yelling at me for doing something wrong and this doesn’t seem to be helping anything—

            “Alright, this way, turn left, and stop.”

            I turn around. Oh, I’m really young here. Two big hands – Sam’s – covering my eyes as Dean walks around, a grin on his face like no other.

            “And, _surprise_!”

            People jump out from behind couches. Jody, Claire, Donna, Alex, Bobby…

            I feel the tears welling in my eyes as I watch my younger face go from shock to disbelief to relieved.

            I remember this day.

            I thought no one had remembered my birthday. No one mentioned it. And it wasn’t the first time they had forgotten my birthday.

            But this one was big…I was twelve.

            How do I remember this?

            “Joy…wait, can you hear me?”

            I turn around, finding Dean behind me. The Dean I know. The much older, worn down hero, Dean.

            My…my brother.

            “Dean…”

            It hits like a tidal wave then.

            All the fighting. All the arguing. Sam and Dean never letting me out of their sight. They were protecting me. I hated it. I hated being treated like a kid. I wanted to be like them, big, bullet-proof heroes. I tried to. I got hurt. I got yelled at for it.

            I died. Made a stupid deal with a Reaper. Told her to keep them alive no matter the circumstances. At the price of my life.

            I remember The Empty.

            I remember waking up in that park. Finding Dean. Being scared out of my mind.

            I remember hiding.

            I remember…Arthur Ketch.

            I feel my heart tugging, weeping.

            I thought he was a good man. A better man. He killed Eileen. He killed innocent people. He killed Mick, all because of some stupid code he had to obey.

            He manipulated me into thinking it was just his work.

            He _lied_.

            I blink again, and Dean is no longer there. Neither is the vision – everyone is gone.

            My ears start ringing, the pitch something I’ve absolutely never experienced before in my life, sending me down to my knees. There’s loud noises…thudding…sounding like bodies being tossed against walls…

            “I’m gonna kill you.”

            “Oh you won’t, but I’d very much enjoy it if you tried.”

            More thudding…punching…laughter?

            What the hell…

            “You want to know what your sister said about you, Dean? All those long days and even _longer_ nights.” A thud, and a groan. “That you were annoying—” Thud. “And a pain—” Thud. “In her ass.” Thud. “Ah, this is fun.”

            I hear a crash, glass shattering…groaning.

            Crunching, bones breaking…and if they aren’t

            “When you left us alone in the bunker? Boy, I knew you were psycho, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”

            I force my eyes open, Dean’s voice finally registering in my brain. What’s…

            “I may be many things…but I am not stupid.” The accent and the click of that gun already tells me just who I’m looking at.

            Arthur Ketch.

            Dumbass, pain in my ass, every form of an ass, from England.

            I grab the gun nearest to me, Dean’s pistol, and fire without thinking.

            A gasp and a thud has me knowing I hit my target.

            Dean flinches, his eyes falling to me. I push myself out of the chair, standing on shaking legs as I keep my gun aimed at Ketch who is now on his knees, staring at me with wide eyes.

            “Put the gun down, Ketch.”

            The gun clatters to the floor, Ketch’s eyes studying my face. “Joy…”

            “Shut up,” I hiss.

            He stays quiet. He must know better.

            There’s no words to describe the emotions I am feeling. No words to describe what I feel when I see his face staring back at me.

            “You are not the man I thought you were,” I mutter, pulling the trigger.

            Ketch falls onto his back, and I am a wreck from the moment I let go of the gun.

            “Go on,” I chuckle darkly, tears flowing down my cheeks without stopping as I try to look at Dean. “Give it to me. The biggest ‘I told you so’ of the century.”

            But he doesn’t.

            He, instead, gives me the biggest hug of the century. And I needed that much more.


End file.
